Dingy and dark looks the sky,
The horizon, betraying of light
Prolonged, oh, so protracted
Is the spell of the nigrescent night.
Anticipating eyes, anxious faces,
Keep gazing at lands far away,
Waiting for the first ray to burst forth
A Godsend is all, for whom they pray.
Little do they know,
That their harbinger has come,
With open eyes, they sleep,
Not knowing what they can become.
How long shalt Thou take, O Man?
To seize the control of Your fate?
You are filled with energy enormous,
And yet for a hero, why do You wait?
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
The Exception
‘Dream-come-true’ is an expression used so many times by the nouveau-successful that it has ceased to generate the same awe inspiring emotions in the listener. Perhaps they don’t inspire the same emotions in the speaker too. Most people live their lives to live their fantasies, to wait for the one day that their wildest dreams would come true and when they would get an opportunity to advice their next of kin on how to realize their dreams.
Shyam dreaded his dreams. He didn’t fear the nightmares, for they were far too mild compared to the life he lived, filled with greed, vice and poisonous snakes-in-the-form-of-people all around him. What he feared was the chance that his dreams might come true. It might look straight out of another mindless Hollywood blood fest, but his dreams had a strange propensity to come true. And come true in the most terrifying of ways. Shyam still shuddered with horror when he remembered the incident that made him realize the power of his dreams.
Shyam woke up sweating. He had just witnessed a horrific accident of his secretary, Manish, with a speeding car in his dreams. He clearly remembered the number plate of the car GJ 1 HP 2334. It was odd to see a car from Gujarat in Delhi. Dismissing it as yet another manifestation of his over active imagination, he went to sleep again, only to be woken up by a phone call on his private number. It was to be used only in the strictest of emergencies. Worried, he picked up the phone.
“Sir, I have some bad news!” an urgent voice spoke on the other end.
“How is Manish?” Shyam asked instinctively. The other person seemed genuinely surprised at his reply.
“Sir, how come…you…”
“Shut up and tell me how is Manish?”
“Sir, I am sorry to say this, but he is no more. He was hit by a speeding car yesterday night while crossing the road.”
Shyam was too stunned to talk. Was it a déjà-vu? Or just a mere coincidence? If it were the latter, it was a very costly one.
“Sir, are you there?”
“Yes. Tell me, why didn’t anyone tell me about this yesterday?”
“The police hadn’t identified the body. They broke the news just now. The culpable car was from Gujarat, number GJ 1 HP 2334. The police were surprised to find a car from Gujarat in Delhi.”
Shyam was trembling. He felt the fine trickling of beads of sweat down his back, inspite of full air-conditioning.
“The police tracked down the driver, who confessed that he was driving under the influence of alcohol…” Shyam cut the phone, held his head in his hands and sat down on his bed.
If it had been this single incident, Shyam would have gladly shrugged it as a coincidence. But gradually, he saw that most of his early morning dreams were getting true. He tried to think of happy thoughts before going to sleep, hoping for some good, happy dreams. Sometimes he succeeded. Other times, he was too afraid to remember what he had seen. People try to live their dreams. Shyam died every day fearing his would come true.
He woke up sweating that day. This was not one of his usual nightmares, but something far worse.
He sees a gun. Its nozzle is pointed at the temple of an unseen person. The index finger squeezes the trigger slowly. It trembles a little, but the firm resolve is evident in the contracted muscles. And then, the trigger is pressed. There is a loud clamor and the then a blood spattered face is seen. The face, as does the blood, belongs to the Chairman of Ace industries, among the richest men in the country, and on the Forbes’ list. He also sees the hand that held the gun, and a ring with two alphabets engraved on it-‘SM’.
Shyam filled a glass of water and drank it in a gulp. It did little to ease his stress-induced tachycardia. As he lifted the glass towards his lips, he saw the ring with ‘SM’ inscribed on it. It was given by his lovely wife Meera. He started trembling from a fear he had never known. The hands which could not kill a fly were destined to kill a person. Or were they? Only time would tell. Shyam’s dreams would come true within 24 hours, and the deadline had started, literally.
“Suhani,” he called his new secretary and said, “I want guards from a private security agency around me for 24 hours,” then he raised his hand to stop Suhani when she started asking why, and continued, “Don’t ask me why. It’s a matter of life and death of the most important person of the country.” Suhani knew better than to question further. One of her biggest assets was that she knew when to keep quiet and when to spread disquiet. It made her perfect for her secretarial job. Her efficiency was unparalleled in the office and its evidence was visible when a uniformed security guard presented himself to the office’s doors. Shyam allowed him to walk into his cabin.
“What’s your name?”
“Vishal. Vishal Singh.”
“Listen Vishal, I will employ you for only one day. Don’t worry, if you carry out your duty successfully, you’ll receive payments equivalent to a month’s salary. If you fail, you won’t find anyone to collect the money from.” The instructions were crisp, lucid and clear. Shyam needn’t have said anything more. Vishal was intelligent enough to know what the man in front of him meant. But he wasn’t the least prepared for what Shyam explained him to do. Normally he was used to protecting people from dangers. This case was intriguing at its best and dangerous at its worst.
“Vishal,” Shyam said gravely, “I want you to be with me throughout these 24 hours and ensure that I do not lay my hands on any weapon. I know it’s a strange request, but the life of the Prime minister of India is at stake.” Vishal did not seek further information. He stamped his right foot on the ground and saluted Shyam saying, “Yes sir!”
There was a knock on the door. “Come in”, Shyam said in a stern voice. His throat betrayed the tumult in his head. Suhani walked in with a few files. Vishal ogled at her behind as she walked back, but on seeing Shyam’s frown from the corner of his eye, he looked down, embarrassed.
“Can’t you keep your eyes under control?” Shyam asked sternly.
“Sorry sir. Old habits die hard!”
“Learn to curb them, for someday old habits can be deadly.” Vishal let this comment pass.
Sometimes, hours may pass unnoticed, and sometimes each moment may seem excruciating. Shyam felt something similar as the second-hand of the clock ticked slowly across, swiping across the face of the clock, wiping it clean every minute and replacing it with a fresh bout of fear for Shyam. Vishal, on his part, kept strict vigil. He had even asked Shyam to get rid of all sharp instruments, which included even his pens. For the safety of his own life, he decided that certain papers can wait for his signature.
Fear. The emotion which strips one bare, naked in front of self. The creeping monster which corrodes the soul, and renders the person hollow. Fear. Shyam felt the same monster creeping upon him, trickling down his back, dripping down his brow. He tried to wipe it away, but could not keep it away from crippling his spine. His hands shook even when he sipped water from the glass, even when he called his wife to inform that he would be staying in the office till the next day morning.
Thus passed the day, without any incident. Nobody got hurt from Shyam’s hands. Vishal on his part, stayed alert throughout, his eyes not blinking a bit. As the clock struck 5 in the morning, thereby completing the twenty-four hour period since Shyam saw that cursed dream, it was time, he decided, to leave for his home. Vishal drove him home. As he reached home, Shyam knocked the door of his home. His daughter opened it.
“Oh dad! What kept you out till so late?”
“Manisha, I was busy with some work.”
“Some work? Oh really!” Manisha laughed as she let Shyam in. As he walked in, he never noticed Vishal staring at Manisha from the angle of his eye while receiving the money. How much would he repent missing this vital link of eye later on!
As Shyam was working though his files the next day, a phone call jarred his attention.
“Shyam! Come home fast!” the voice from the other end shrieked. It was his wife.
“What happened?” Shyam asked, worried.
“Manisha, our Manisha…” Shyam’s wife cut the phone mid way. It was enough to make him dash through the office. As he sat down in his car, he called Vishal’s number, but his call didn’t go through. As he reached home, he dashed through the door and saw a sight which would have made a weaker man faint. On the floor lay his daughter, naked, except for two clothes on her private parts for dignity, and a pool of blood around her. In the now-congealed blood, somebody had crawled with a finger ‘VISHAL’. It was enough for Shyam to grasp the situation. Forensic reports only confirmed what Shyam had guessed. There were Vishal’s fingerprints all over Manisha’s body. It took just one call from Shyam to the Police Commissioner, and his close friend, to catch Vishal. And it took the Delhi police just over an hour to wriggle out the confession from him. He confessed that it was he who had silently entered Shyam’s home, caught hold of Manisha and had raped her repeatedly, before killing her by slitting her wrists. Shyam asked for a revolver from the police. Without further questioning, he was handed one. He placed the nozzle between Vishal’s eyes and pulled the trigger. The devil incarnate went down in a spurt of blood. Shyam pocketed the gun and walked away. Reaching his home, he had a look at the place where his daughter lay covered in nothing but a pool of blood. Testing his luck, he removed four of the remaining five bullets, revolved the cylinder for a long time, put the nozzle at his temple. The index finger squeezes the trigger slowly. It trembles a little, but the firm resolve is evident in the contracted muscles. And then, the trigger is pressed. There is a loud clamor and the then a blood spattered face is seen. The next day, the whole nation was in shock over the suicide of Mr. Shyam Saxena, the Chairman of Ace Industries, and among the richest men in the world with his name in every Forbes’ list. The reason for his suicide was kept tightly under wraps.
Shyam’s dream became true more than twenty-four hours after he saw it, breaking his own rule. But isn’t there an exception to every rule?
Shyam dreaded his dreams. He didn’t fear the nightmares, for they were far too mild compared to the life he lived, filled with greed, vice and poisonous snakes-in-the-form-of-people all around him. What he feared was the chance that his dreams might come true. It might look straight out of another mindless Hollywood blood fest, but his dreams had a strange propensity to come true. And come true in the most terrifying of ways. Shyam still shuddered with horror when he remembered the incident that made him realize the power of his dreams.
Shyam woke up sweating. He had just witnessed a horrific accident of his secretary, Manish, with a speeding car in his dreams. He clearly remembered the number plate of the car GJ 1 HP 2334. It was odd to see a car from Gujarat in Delhi. Dismissing it as yet another manifestation of his over active imagination, he went to sleep again, only to be woken up by a phone call on his private number. It was to be used only in the strictest of emergencies. Worried, he picked up the phone.
“Sir, I have some bad news!” an urgent voice spoke on the other end.
“How is Manish?” Shyam asked instinctively. The other person seemed genuinely surprised at his reply.
“Sir, how come…you…”
“Shut up and tell me how is Manish?”
“Sir, I am sorry to say this, but he is no more. He was hit by a speeding car yesterday night while crossing the road.”
Shyam was too stunned to talk. Was it a déjà-vu? Or just a mere coincidence? If it were the latter, it was a very costly one.
“Sir, are you there?”
“Yes. Tell me, why didn’t anyone tell me about this yesterday?”
“The police hadn’t identified the body. They broke the news just now. The culpable car was from Gujarat, number GJ 1 HP 2334. The police were surprised to find a car from Gujarat in Delhi.”
Shyam was trembling. He felt the fine trickling of beads of sweat down his back, inspite of full air-conditioning.
“The police tracked down the driver, who confessed that he was driving under the influence of alcohol…” Shyam cut the phone, held his head in his hands and sat down on his bed.
If it had been this single incident, Shyam would have gladly shrugged it as a coincidence. But gradually, he saw that most of his early morning dreams were getting true. He tried to think of happy thoughts before going to sleep, hoping for some good, happy dreams. Sometimes he succeeded. Other times, he was too afraid to remember what he had seen. People try to live their dreams. Shyam died every day fearing his would come true.
He woke up sweating that day. This was not one of his usual nightmares, but something far worse.
He sees a gun. Its nozzle is pointed at the temple of an unseen person. The index finger squeezes the trigger slowly. It trembles a little, but the firm resolve is evident in the contracted muscles. And then, the trigger is pressed. There is a loud clamor and the then a blood spattered face is seen. The face, as does the blood, belongs to the Chairman of Ace industries, among the richest men in the country, and on the Forbes’ list. He also sees the hand that held the gun, and a ring with two alphabets engraved on it-‘SM’.
Shyam filled a glass of water and drank it in a gulp. It did little to ease his stress-induced tachycardia. As he lifted the glass towards his lips, he saw the ring with ‘SM’ inscribed on it. It was given by his lovely wife Meera. He started trembling from a fear he had never known. The hands which could not kill a fly were destined to kill a person. Or were they? Only time would tell. Shyam’s dreams would come true within 24 hours, and the deadline had started, literally.
“Suhani,” he called his new secretary and said, “I want guards from a private security agency around me for 24 hours,” then he raised his hand to stop Suhani when she started asking why, and continued, “Don’t ask me why. It’s a matter of life and death of the most important person of the country.” Suhani knew better than to question further. One of her biggest assets was that she knew when to keep quiet and when to spread disquiet. It made her perfect for her secretarial job. Her efficiency was unparalleled in the office and its evidence was visible when a uniformed security guard presented himself to the office’s doors. Shyam allowed him to walk into his cabin.
“What’s your name?”
“Vishal. Vishal Singh.”
“Listen Vishal, I will employ you for only one day. Don’t worry, if you carry out your duty successfully, you’ll receive payments equivalent to a month’s salary. If you fail, you won’t find anyone to collect the money from.” The instructions were crisp, lucid and clear. Shyam needn’t have said anything more. Vishal was intelligent enough to know what the man in front of him meant. But he wasn’t the least prepared for what Shyam explained him to do. Normally he was used to protecting people from dangers. This case was intriguing at its best and dangerous at its worst.
“Vishal,” Shyam said gravely, “I want you to be with me throughout these 24 hours and ensure that I do not lay my hands on any weapon. I know it’s a strange request, but the life of the Prime minister of India is at stake.” Vishal did not seek further information. He stamped his right foot on the ground and saluted Shyam saying, “Yes sir!”
There was a knock on the door. “Come in”, Shyam said in a stern voice. His throat betrayed the tumult in his head. Suhani walked in with a few files. Vishal ogled at her behind as she walked back, but on seeing Shyam’s frown from the corner of his eye, he looked down, embarrassed.
“Can’t you keep your eyes under control?” Shyam asked sternly.
“Sorry sir. Old habits die hard!”
“Learn to curb them, for someday old habits can be deadly.” Vishal let this comment pass.
Sometimes, hours may pass unnoticed, and sometimes each moment may seem excruciating. Shyam felt something similar as the second-hand of the clock ticked slowly across, swiping across the face of the clock, wiping it clean every minute and replacing it with a fresh bout of fear for Shyam. Vishal, on his part, kept strict vigil. He had even asked Shyam to get rid of all sharp instruments, which included even his pens. For the safety of his own life, he decided that certain papers can wait for his signature.
Fear. The emotion which strips one bare, naked in front of self. The creeping monster which corrodes the soul, and renders the person hollow. Fear. Shyam felt the same monster creeping upon him, trickling down his back, dripping down his brow. He tried to wipe it away, but could not keep it away from crippling his spine. His hands shook even when he sipped water from the glass, even when he called his wife to inform that he would be staying in the office till the next day morning.
Thus passed the day, without any incident. Nobody got hurt from Shyam’s hands. Vishal on his part, stayed alert throughout, his eyes not blinking a bit. As the clock struck 5 in the morning, thereby completing the twenty-four hour period since Shyam saw that cursed dream, it was time, he decided, to leave for his home. Vishal drove him home. As he reached home, Shyam knocked the door of his home. His daughter opened it.
“Oh dad! What kept you out till so late?”
“Manisha, I was busy with some work.”
“Some work? Oh really!” Manisha laughed as she let Shyam in. As he walked in, he never noticed Vishal staring at Manisha from the angle of his eye while receiving the money. How much would he repent missing this vital link of eye later on!
As Shyam was working though his files the next day, a phone call jarred his attention.
“Shyam! Come home fast!” the voice from the other end shrieked. It was his wife.
“What happened?” Shyam asked, worried.
“Manisha, our Manisha…” Shyam’s wife cut the phone mid way. It was enough to make him dash through the office. As he sat down in his car, he called Vishal’s number, but his call didn’t go through. As he reached home, he dashed through the door and saw a sight which would have made a weaker man faint. On the floor lay his daughter, naked, except for two clothes on her private parts for dignity, and a pool of blood around her. In the now-congealed blood, somebody had crawled with a finger ‘VISHAL’. It was enough for Shyam to grasp the situation. Forensic reports only confirmed what Shyam had guessed. There were Vishal’s fingerprints all over Manisha’s body. It took just one call from Shyam to the Police Commissioner, and his close friend, to catch Vishal. And it took the Delhi police just over an hour to wriggle out the confession from him. He confessed that it was he who had silently entered Shyam’s home, caught hold of Manisha and had raped her repeatedly, before killing her by slitting her wrists. Shyam asked for a revolver from the police. Without further questioning, he was handed one. He placed the nozzle between Vishal’s eyes and pulled the trigger. The devil incarnate went down in a spurt of blood. Shyam pocketed the gun and walked away. Reaching his home, he had a look at the place where his daughter lay covered in nothing but a pool of blood. Testing his luck, he removed four of the remaining five bullets, revolved the cylinder for a long time, put the nozzle at his temple. The index finger squeezes the trigger slowly. It trembles a little, but the firm resolve is evident in the contracted muscles. And then, the trigger is pressed. There is a loud clamor and the then a blood spattered face is seen. The next day, the whole nation was in shock over the suicide of Mr. Shyam Saxena, the Chairman of Ace Industries, and among the richest men in the world with his name in every Forbes’ list. The reason for his suicide was kept tightly under wraps.
Shyam’s dream became true more than twenty-four hours after he saw it, breaking his own rule. But isn’t there an exception to every rule?
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Love you forever
Love you for inspiring this rhyme,
Love you for making me fall in love every time.
Love the way you talk,
love the way you smile
love the way it hold holds my heart
and stops it awhile.
Love your sound, oh, a wonderful chime
Love you for making me fall in love every time
Love you when you talk,
love your beautiful eyes
love the way it holds my mind
and makes me believe even your lies.
Not falling in love with you, a heinous crime
Love you for making me fall in love every time
Love to see you laugh,
love to see you cry
love to be the shoulder
on which your tears dry
Love the way you look so sublime
Love you for making me fall in love every time
Love you for making me fall in love every time.
Love the way you talk,
love the way you smile
love the way it hold holds my heart
and stops it awhile.
Love your sound, oh, a wonderful chime
Love you for making me fall in love every time
Love you when you talk,
love your beautiful eyes
love the way it holds my mind
and makes me believe even your lies.
Not falling in love with you, a heinous crime
Love you for making me fall in love every time
Love to see you laugh,
love to see you cry
love to be the shoulder
on which your tears dry
Love the way you look so sublime
Love you for making me fall in love every time
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