The Misogynist-Part I

“Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart.

  The really great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth."

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment

Your pain is yours alone.

Yours alone to understand. Yours alone to come to terms with.

The gears of agony never stop churning; the gap between what you want to be and what you're turning out in stead goes on increasing, unhurried, unruffled, without a care or thought, at its own relentless pace.

Until one fine day it stretches too far. Something snaps.

And you  become something else altogether.

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Sharmistha Sengupta was beauty in motion. Doe-like eyes, heart-shaped face and open hair falling like a waterfall of black gold over her shoulders. Barely twenty three, the number of men whose hearts she had crushed was roughly the same as her age.

She was paying the price for her looks now.

Her flawless peach skin was on fire. A hundred dwarf syringes were ruthlessly pumping their deadly payload into it- nearly thirty micro gram of venom each. Barely fifteen seconds ago, Asesh had dashed a hornet’s nest against the marble floor. He had fled the room immediately, latching the door behind him. The room-light had dimmed as an army of vengeful tormentors poured from that nest and slammed into her like slugs, setting off little volcanoes of anguish erupting in its wake.

“Oh god! Help! Asesh…please!” She screamed at the top of her lungs, but her sounds drowned in the buzzing of the vicious brown-yellow capsules darting all around her. She shrieked and leaped. The hornets were clustering on her arms, her shoulders and her legs. Her eyes bulged at the trauma and her panicked hands tried to brush the tiny pricks off, but it only added to the stinging fury of the two-inch savages. The miniature brutes stung her ears, her face, every millimeter of exposed skin. Throbbing red swells mushroomed in their wake. The pain was intense, scores of quarter inch white hot needles plunging in and out, the black cloud swarming into every nook and corner of her world, drenching her in unimaginable burn and ache.

Her legs bounded towards the door, the glossy drones from hell in pursuit. They jetted in and out of her hair, her clothes, slipped inside her undergarments, scouting for untouched flesh. She ripped her top off and stared in shock at dozens of those bastards glued to her soft belly and ample chest. She realized the futility of trying to sweep them off and started raining blows on the door.

"Asesh, Asesh!" she cried but realized his voice was a whisper; the stinging on her neck had choked up her voice box.

The door swung open as if by magic. Asesh hadn't really locked it.

Run! she told herself. Run to the washroom.

And she did. Speeding faster than she'd ever run in his life, crashing through the furniture, overturning chairs and stools. Desperation pumped through her leg muscles. Faster . . . Faster, she ordered herself. Don't stop. Outrun the puny motherfuckers. I can't die like this. Faster, faster, faster . . . There were fewer wasps now though she could still see close to fifty of the winged devils nailed to her skin, the lethal stingers poised to strike again.

I'll be at the washroom soon. I'll leap into the shower. They'll wash away. I'll be all right . . . Run! Tune out the burn . . . the burn . . . Bloody hell, why does my whole body burn? It hurts like hell...

Adrenalin gunned through her veins and she bolted like a cheetah, bumping into sofas and tables that were just a hazy blur in her tear-filled eyes.

The washroom. She'd tear through the door and...

But hold on, something was amiss. Sharmistha looked around her and saw that the walls, the electrical fittings, the hanging pictures were no longer flying past her. Everything stood rooted. She wasn't running. She wasn't even on her feet. She was lying on the cold floor still five feet away from the washroom, her comely legs not racing but flapping madly in the air.

Holy shit! I don’t want to die…I don’t want to…

Her hand groped for something. Anything which she could use to brush the fiery hornets away. Though her thumb had ballooned from the venom she managed to grab a magazine and started flogging herself with it, squashing some of the six-legged killers. But then the rhythmic tremors bubbled upwards from her thighs and calves. Into her trunk and neck and arms. She couldn't hold on. She dropped the magazine. Her ears only received the low buzz note of the wasps, which trimmed into a hair-breadth of sound and finally everything became still.

The man she knew as Asesh stood outside at the apartment door, crouching, his eyes taking in everything through the keyhole. A smile creased his lips.

Strike one. Bye bye, bitch!

To be continued?

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Getting published and other blah- II

Ahh well, finally the moment has arrived. When a good for nothing bloke like me actually gets to see the book he is a part of in online and physical bookstores. :-)

And the book is available in-
Amegabooks
Bookadda
Infibeam
Flipkart (coming soon)
HomeShop18 (coming soon)

I wish I could say I am damn excited about it and all, but shucks, now all I can come up with is a 'bleh' kinda mood. :-P

Lol..kidding re! Of course I am darn excited. But..but..but..I'm excited about something else too..

I'm....wait for it...getting published in Urban Shots series as well. Didn't hear of Urban Shots? :-( Wait..What?



So.. yep..it's a series of books and one of my other stories is gonna be a part of the upcoming one!! :-D

Umm..yeah...so that's that. Posts like these usually end with the author humbly requesting/begging/coaxing/cajoling/threatening the readers to buy the books and all..but I'll spare you all that. :-)

I am grateful that maybe there are still a few followers of mine who read my posts even now. And I'm grateful for being able to share my happiness with the select few of you today. :-)

But a guy can't afford to rest on his laurels for too long. So..next..next....next..What's next? Ahh well..I iwill tell that to you guys too..when the time is ripe!! :-)

Bye!

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Getting published and other blah

Ahem...dear readers!! Yours truly is gonna get published soon. The above picture is the cover page of the book in which my short story jostles for space with nine other splendid pieces of fiction. :-)

I think the book is already available for pre-order (at least, that's what Nethra told me!). Anyway, I will update you guys as and when the good news stream in.

And another thing, one of my short stories is up at litizen.com. You can read it here. I will be very happy if you read it and leave your valuable comments there. The comments section kinda looks bleak and desolate now on that page!! He he, I mean..comon....above all, I want to know what my readers are thinking about my story. Without that, stuff kinda feels incomplete. So please, please, please....if you can spare some time (it is a 6000+ word story..yeah..I know..kill me!!), please do go through it...And share me your feedback...If you like it, please do share it on FB or other social profiles. It will do the poor wannabe author in me a world of good!! LOL!!! Hell....I make a mess of begging, don't I? Wish I had a sexier way of doing it...:-P But I have to make do with what I have for now.

And oh yes....remember the story I was pushing for getting published at Harper Collins...??? One with the Indiblogger tie-in? Well guess what??? Yours truly got shortlisted...So stage 1 cleared...:-D Let's see if I can overcome Stage 2...

Before I go...thanks to all of you...past and present followers...each of your appreciations went a long way in making me think I can actually write something publish-worthy. So this grand day is as much yours as it is mine. Without you folks, I wouldn't have made it so far. Special thanks to Swarnali Das and Monika Malik...they always made me feel my work id Pulitzer material...even though I knew better..:-P 

So thanks again!!! Stay happy....Bye..

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An eclectic literary childhood

I sometimes ponder as to what kind of a person I would have been had I not been such a reading addict since childhood. Its not a very pretty picture, believe me. I am one of those people who believe that you are what you read, one of those people who like the smell of fresh crisp pages of a new book and the rustic one of an old book, one of those who’d prefer reading a novel over watching a movie any day.

A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. Indeed.
I think the moment I was out of the “toddlerism”, I was into books! It all started with the Snow White, Red Riding Hood and Rapunzel stories and continued to the Alice in wonderland and Pinocchio and Noddy ones. I could never get enough of them. I devoured them.
Enid Blyton was my savior in my early school days. She was my God back then. Whilst all the kids around were watching cartoons, my nose would be deep in The Famous Five and Secret Seven books. Their adventures took me to another dreamy land of my own. On getting back from school and inquiring mum about the lunch, I would expect mom to give me fancy names like jam tarts, ham, sardine sandwiches and ginger beer, and would be disappointed to get the regular stuff.
Then entered Mademoiselle Nancy Drew. Oh boy! She and her mustang and her mysteries would send me spiraling to another world altogether. I have sweet memories with Sweet Valley High and Chicken soup too. Then came the hostel life phase. Malory Towers, St. Clare’s, The naughtiest girl series. I had read them one and all. R.L Stine's novels and Hardy boys I would finish on an hourly basis and switch to the next. Life was on a roll. I didn't need anything but my books. My ultimate dream would be to make a huge walk in library of my own.



When teenage hit me, I was happily consuming Agatha Christie, Sidney Sheldon, Robin Cook, Danielle Steele, Ayn Rand and Harry Potter books. Nicholas Sparks and Cecilia Ahern books would trigger the romantic side i never knew existed in me.
Now when I think of all the books I grew up with I get nostalgic. I also realize what an indiscriminate and voracious reader I was back then. Unfortunately, now I am more picky about what I read. The reviews have to be nice, the author has to be good. I have read some great novels the picky way but i still wish i had the capacity to read indiscriminately even now.

I remember when exams approached us, mom would lock our mini library but my sister and i just couldn't be stopped. We would manage to steal a book or two from elsewhere. We’d sit in the bathroom for hours on the pretext of shitting and bathing while we were actually reading the book! At night, we would lie down on the floor and read in the tail light so that mom wouldn't notice we were up!

“Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.”
― John Green
Its like this man entered my thoughts and spoke for me! When i read a novel, i am oblivious of everything around me. I’m walking in a haze, mesmerized and spellbound, looking at everything through a different prism.
I actually feel sad for those who don’t read. They don’t know what they are missing out on. When you read you can make your imagination fly!
All in all, i think i would've been a completely different personality if it were not for all the books that i have read.I can’t possibly be eloquent about how much I love reading, so I’ll just stop here.

PS: This post is up on my other blog as well but since most of you don't know about the other blog, I thought I might as well post it here. :)

I know I'm not as good a writer as Rahul, but hey, I'm trying! :)

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New Life...

Life and events do take interesting turns sometimes. There was a point in time when I began this blog. I met quite a few people, had interesting conversations, made a few good friends. And now things seem to have come a full circle because one of those very friends is going to help me in keeping this space up and running.

He he. Yeah! You heard right!

I wasn't doing much justice to this blog for a long time anyway. And this particular friend of mine is eager to continue where I left off. So, thankfully, my blog will get a shot in the arm and if things go well, will hopefully be galloping away to glory in a short while.

Wait. What? Do I hear someone say this blog didn't have much of a chance to begin with? :-P All it had to offer were -boring content, cliched plots, unimaginative fiction, childish poetry...and lot of meaningless bleh?

Ah well...you can't blame a guy for trying, now can you? :-D

So anyway, lemme tell you a bit about my buddy now. This post is supposed to be about her anyway. She is quite an interesting person. I'm sure you guys will love her.

She used to maintain a blog before. It was called "Audere Agere Aufure".To dare, to strive, to conquer. Her fiery eyes do seem to convey her gumption to fight and defeat her demons.

But then some jerk hacked her account and her blog was lost to the world. Woe begone! :-(

Thankfully, she is back and kicking now!

This is her GooglePlus profile.

Guys! Yeah, she is a sight to sore eyes! :-D And besides that obvious fact, she is also a
i. classical danseuse
ii.a smashing basketball player
iii.terrific at handball and
iv. heavy-duty shot-putter.
Yup.A talent powerhouse.:-) Classical Greek Goddess physicality coupled with kick-ass toughness.

She once wanted me to write something on her and I came up with this ! Well if you read that you'll realize how badly I suck at describing ravishing women! But then again, as i said, you can't blame a guy for trying.... :-P

So, Ms.Sharma, hopefully you will be available here for the ribbon cutting and coconut smashing ceremony. And hopefully, breathe life into this dying blog...

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Countdown to D

Something is going to happen here soon..

And it is gonna be good!
:)(:

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You can fire me...I quit

Running away feels nice sometimes. Quitting. Moving on. Or maybe not moving on. Anyway, a time arrives when you just stop. Freeze everything. Put an end to things. Wrap them up. I guess the time is now. It had been fun being here. I went through a lot of experiences courtesy this blog. Might actually miss it. Or not.

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Not giving up, babe!

Hello friend,
I hope you're doing well. I mean I'm sure you're. 'Coz whenever you aren't, you smoke and booze your problems out. I'm pretty sure that is a valid and mature coping strategy. :-)

All the same I would like to see you give up smoking. Yes, you'll tell me to F off. Yes, you'll tell me to get lost. Yes you'll tell me not to try to change you. Well, you know what? I will keep on trying in whatever way I can. Because I can't just stand by and watch. Sorry! I'm just not wired that way.

See the above pic, luv? They are twins. Guess, who is the smoker among them? :-/

Confused? Need a closer look?

Twin B smoked half a pack a day for 14 years, while her sister never smoked. The loose skin under her eyes is typical for smokers.

And wait...the good news doesn't end there. Smoking chronically deprives the skin of oxygen and nutrients. So some smokers appear pale, while others develop uneven coloring. These changes can begin at a young age So babe, if you care about your looks, think again!! ;-)

I know...I know...you'll go all 'sheesh' and 'ashlil' on me after this one....but hear the guy out, will ya? Smoking not only screws your face, it can also fuck the shit out of your figure. As skin loses its elasticity, parts that were once firm may begin to droop. This includes the inner arms and breasts. Researchers have identified smoking as a top cause of sagging breasts.

So,hanging gardens of booby-lon? Doesn't sound that pretty, right??

You seriously don't want those ugly lines around your lips, do you? They call it the 'smoker's pucker'. You know all the muscles around their lips that you're using to take a drag? Well, breaking news- they cause those shitty lines. Oh, and they also rob your skin of the elasticity. Together..well...take a good look at those lines again..not so sexy, are they?

Yoohoo!!! Another pair of twins!! Ever heard of the thing called 'age spots'?  Well, one of them surely smoked the shit out of her skin.

No brainer alert!! Yellow teeth? Bad gums? Persistent bad breath? Comes with the smoker's admit card to beauty hell, luv!!!

Yeah! Stained fingers. And nails. Another positive side-effect of your super-healthy habit. :-) Well the bad news is that these stains can fade away....if you give up smoking.

Umm....that lustrous mane of raven black hair you have? The ones which makes dudes' hearts go thump! Imagine a bald spot in its place. Sexy? Ewwy!!!! Smokers go bald, babe!!!! #true story#

And I don't even want to repeat the stale warnings on oral cancer, lung cancer, osteoporosis, heart disease, reproductive problems, blah blah! You love the environment around yourself, babe!! How about being a little more mindful of the environment within your own body? You gotta start quitting someday, don't you?

Funny thing is- I know all of this is an exercise in vain. No one really gives up smoking because other people want them to. You won't give up as well. I know this as surely as I know that I ain't gonna give up trying to make you quit. We live miles apart. But hell, I ain't gonna stop!!! Hell no!!

Signing out,
Your 16th century idealism burdened friend. ;-)

Disclaimer: This post has been sewn and patched from images and information available on the internet. I don't own these, any of it. Have fun reading it and arming yourself with the ammo you might need to rid your loved ones of this deadly habit. Adios!

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Get kicking soon, ok?

Bad stuff happening to people you care deeply about inevitably has a very depressing effect on you. One of my friends has recently met with an accident and is in a lot of pain. :-( I wish I could do something to help, but hell, there is nothing much anybody can do. I wonder how much all the 'get well quick' messages really help in a speedy recovery.

All I can do is try....just a hopeless attempt...to cheer her up! So here goes...my utterly despicable and third-grade efforts!!

Just...try not to Murder me once you get well, okay??!! :-)

My buddy- she is quite fruity!

Quite fond of her trusted scooty! 

But the ride spun out of control! :-((

And the crash took its dire toll!

The doc did a lot of baloney!! :-(

Tetanus,injections,antiseptic-the pain wasn't phony!

Her smashed toes screamed in agony!

She can't walk even to her balcony!

Earlier she was always...smiling

....Cheerful...

Pure harmony!

But now fate dealt her its irony!! :-(

Thankfully, she has a dear friend near! :-)

All that I can hope for sitting miles away...HERE!! :-(

Get kicking soon, okay??? 

Take care!!

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"Fiddling with fidelity" : My entry for the Get Published contest

The Idea

The story is about two brothers and their cousin, each of whose love lives has taken a very different trajectory. The cousin, the wealthiest and eldest among the three is a two-time divorcee. Raised with middle-class values, he still wishes desperately to settle down and is about to hesitatingly tie the knot for a third time. Among the brothers, the elder’s marriage is passing through a rough phase, teetering on the edge of a divorce. The younger brother is struggling with an online relationship with a girl studying abroad.

The lives of these three individuals become intertwined as the words and actions of one unwittingly alter the lives of the others. Bonds strain and bonds snap as the story progresses.

What Makes This Story ‘Real’

It’s a story that derives inspiration from the lives of people I am acquainted with on a very deep and personal level. It talks about the very real problems which the institution of marriage today faces-most of all, the rapidly eroding faith in its validity in today’s confused times.

Extract

A flash of lightning lit up the room, followed by a thunder loud enough to split his eardrums. Jayanta breathed deeper, staring at her lips. Panting softly, she licked her dry lips, making the blood rush through his body.

He remained still. A low rumble vibrated in his chest and he found himself leaning towards her.

He shouldn't do it. This had to stop!

But he did it anyway. He reached over and his hand instinctively went to her hair, damp and inviting. His mind spun, reeling over whether he should pull back while there was still a chance. But at the next flash of lightning, she flung herself into his arms. And her lips into his.

Her lips were soft and sweet. Like several layers of chocolate, with whipped cream and cherries between them. She leaned closer to him, just a little at first, then farther, and Jayanta could feel the raging beat of her heart against his chest.

The illicit and amoral nature of the passion throbbing in her heart tugged at the back of her mind. But it was hard to concentrate on that when Jayanta’s lips felt so soft, yet firm. They wrapped around hers like a perfect fit.  Biting a chunk off the forbidden fruit, the excitement sent goose bumps racing across her skin.

She let out the softest of sighs as his lips flowed down her neck, inch by inch, like a rush of hot water. They then grazed over her earlobe.

Endnote: This is my entry for the HarperCollins-IndiBlogger Get Published contest, which is run with inputs from Yashodhara Lal and HarperCollins India.

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Indifiction workshop

Ahh..my dear followers...(which,btw is a rapidly dwindling community), there is a cool new initiative launched by some folks for fiction lovers at Indifiction workshop. If you love fiction (maybe even harbor pet dreams of getting published one day yourself), I urge you to check the link out.

I just posted a story of mine there. My story's nothing great. You'll probably get bored to death reading my entry. So I would suggest you to read the other entries in stead. Some of them are literally mind-blowing.

And yes, this link hosts fiction writing exercises. So there is a topic for this time as well. To know more, you can have a look here.

Happy reading folks!!! :-)

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Did you know that?

The ambient white light bounced gently off the soft contours of Disha’s shoulders as she walked across the room. The dark hair of the long-legged vision in a blue sari meandered behind her as she quickened her pace to reach where Vikram was standing.

“Hi Vikram, how are you?” She asked in a mellowed tone.

He swallowed hard, mesmerized by her voice. It was rich and soft, yet strangely compelling, as were her eyes. Fathomless amber. Eyes that seemed able to look into him and through him at the same time. Five years ago they had cut through all pretence and put the cuffs on him in the space of a breath. They were just as striking now. Maybe even more.

 “Couldn’t stop thinking about you, I’m afraid.” His larynx rang with deep ardour.

A slow pallor spread beneath her warmly glowing skin. Now there was a refinement to him, a purpose in his stance, and the teasing spark in his eyes had been replaced by a determined gleam.

“Missed me?” His voice jolted her from her thoughts.

Disha felt the colour rush back to her face. His eyes were bright, but she knew they held pain. He couldn't hide that, no matter how much he tried.

"Did you?" he asked, his tone insistent.

She felt a well of emotion, emotion that had lain in slumber for years. Her heart started pounding like that of a pup writhing in the jaws of a wolf.

"Yes,” she replied as she avoided his searching gaze. “More than you can imagine."

“I thought you wouldn’t show up for the reunion.” He moved his fingers back to her ear, pushing them through the long strands of her hair as a painter’s brush would stroke his canvas.

“And miss meeting with you?” She wore a hurt expression. “Highly unlikely.”

He had helped her tide over her darkest times. He had sensitivity without an inclination to judge. He was someone who had stayed up nights to wipe away her tears. Her gratefulness to him was instinctive.

Her hair was now falling in expressive waves down her back; she was quite the loveliest thing he had ever seen. He took a step forward, his hand reaching to touch a smooth, peach-coloured cheek.As his palms cupped her face, he felt a special warmth steal through him, awakening senses from dormancy like the dawning of a new sun. He saw her cheeks flushed with the heat. He saw her lips parting. He watched a blush stain her cheeks.

He inched closer and she closed her eyes. She wanted to savour the feather touch of his fingers on her face. It was one light touch after another, each kind but enchanting, but none lasting long enough to provide any deep satisfaction.

His fingers smoothed her lips, seeking the contours, the edges. Her face was so close she could see each individual, dark, curling lash around her marvellous big eyes. He could stand here like this all night, and never tire of her tenderness.

She opened her eyes to find that his breath had become unsteady. Even then, he waited. She sensed he was giving her a chance to turn and run, but that was the last thing she wanted to do.

His mind raced back. To a time when her arms used to find his neck and coil beyond, drawing her slender body firmly against his heavier, harder one. Her hands used to play over the back of his head, caressing every inch from crown to nape with the devastating touch of those long nailed fingers.

And he used to be snagged in the web they spun, neither able nor willing to move away.

But that was then.

He straightened. “We’re setting a bad example.”

 “Last thing on my mind,” she whispered and her eyelids fluttered closed again. Beneath his fingertips, the pulse at her throat throbbed, her heart racing to beat with his.

 “Your husband is watching,” he said, starting to pull himself away.

“What?” A tinge of panic flashed in her honey filled eyes.

“Kidding,” he chuckled. “But he’s in the room, looking for you.”

Her blood thrummed in her veins. Her breath caught and staggered. With a violent effort which seemed to yank her heart from its hinges, she slowly moved away.

“Time to pretend we’re just friends, isn’t it?” A tight-lipped smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “By the way, your eyes look different today. Very different.”

“They’re just the same.” She looked down at the floor.

“No, tonight they’re thick and sweet. Like a warming ginger ale mixed with smooth honey. Golden brown, big and a million miles away. You have the most stirring eyes, did you know that?”

The End

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Life...

You see when you watch movies like Student of the Year, you usually don't get the entertainment you had craved for. But one thing you get-motivation. To shed all the extra pounds of flab making a mess of your body. Heaven knows I was sitting through the entire movie just making mental notes of what workouts I should be doing to get a boost whenever I cast a look at myself in the mirror again. All in all, I should say that mission was accomplished.Sweat and pain begin in full swing from today. My belly is already groaning in protest. :-)

Last two weeks have been kinda hectic. Was into a lot of studying- a habit I have not been on talking terms with for the last two years or so. Cramming stuff into my head with an aim of regurgitating at the very first opportunity I get, all the nervous cramps one gets before a major exam, the coffee induced energy spell, your parents suddenly going out of their way to make life easier for you while you are cramming away,yeah.... and all that jazz. Packed into a tiny time-space of two weeks time. Blogging took a hit. Story ideas remained in the factory or rotting in the warehouse. A pile of movies begging for attention. Yeah...so plenty of things to resume and reboot.

Just today, I received a comment on my blog from my latest follower. The guy had read a few of my stories and said -"The protagonist seems to have a thing for unavailable people" or something on those lines. I smiled on reading that. That guy nailed it!!! :-D So Cmus (or Nikhil, I presume?) you seem to have a way of deducing truths. :-) Looks like we are gonna have fun times ahead!!! :-) Welcome aboard!!

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Thicker Than Water-Final Chapter

After a hour long drive, they arrived at Jaiswal’s residence. Jaiswal got out of his car and was about to take out his bag when he saw a piece of salwar sticking out of the car door. Suddenly alarmed, he yanked the door open to see a frightened Meera lying on the floor.

“What the fu..”, Jaiswal left his sentence hanging as he dragged Meera out of the car, grabbing her  rudely by the hair.

Meera screamed in pain and her left foot shot forward to hit Jaiswal in his right shin. Jaiswal grit his teeth to tune out the agony in his bones and slapped Meera across her cheek with tremendous force. Meera drowned in a world of hurt .Two of her teeth started moving with a life of their own, as a metallic, copper like fluid filled her mouth .She spat out the blood. It tasted warm and deep.

She felt too weak to resist as Jaiswal tugged and jerked her along to his house. His fingers dug deep into her soft flesh as he inserted his keys into the door lock and pushed the door open. He yanked her hand so hard ,pulling her into his house, she started fearing that her shoulder had got dislocated.

Jaiswal pushed the door close with his left foot and grabbed Meera’s throat. “You are Sriram’s elder daughter, aren’t you?” He growled as he looked menacingly at her wide, terrified eyes.

“What the fuck were you doing in my car?”

“To t...take back the ring,” she managed to choke out.

Jaiswal let out a low guttural laugh. “So daddy’s adopted daughter wants to play hero, huh? For what? So that daddy starts loving her more than her sister?”

Meera’s face registered shock and surprise at how this man had come to know so much about their family. And then it dawned on her. Suraj must have told him.

“Looks like I’ll have to play the gracious host,” Jaiswal hissed and pushed her towards his bedroom. Meera tried in vain to wrest free from his grasp, only to have his heavy hand smash down on the back of  her head.

Darkness descended in front of her eyes, and a dull pain throbbed at the back of her skull. Before she knew what was happening, her assailant had shoved her into a dark closet in the bedroom.

“It’s dark in here,” she heard Jaiswal chuckle. “I brought you some company. Do be gentle with him though. He has a nasty bite.”

She watched in horror, as he threw a dark spider, the size of a human foot, into the closet and locked the door.

Drowned in a pitch-black world.
A deadly spider waiting to bite her!

Present time

Meera brought both her hands behind her to clutch a shelf. She bent her knees slightly. For a closet, it had a surprisingly large gap between the shelves and doors. Enough to fit in her frame. But it wasn't big enough. The doors kissed her knees halfway through her bending.

This would have to do.

Counting to three, she jumped with as much force she could muster in the tight enclosure. The shelf creaked as she lunged upwards. As her feet left the floor, she dug them into the doors. The top of her head thudded against the roof. And her teeth accidentally bit down on her tongue. The hairy monster was no longer on her legs, having jumped somewhere in the dark abyss. Taking a deep breath, and ignoring the hurt, she pushed with all her might against the doors which held her. The shelves and the doors groaned under her weight.
Minutes passed. Her armpits and palms became a sweaty, sticky mess. How much longer ? she thought desperately. Just then, she felt the eerie hairy something drop on her stomach. As it started moving, fear clutched her heart again, a terrified shriek escaping her mouth. With a sudden burst of adrenalin, she withdrew her right foot and lashed it out against the door with a strength beyond her imagining. A split-second later, the hinges gave way. The right door flew off the hinges. With no support for her foot, Meera crashed to the floor. The shelves scraped her back as she fell. Her backbone jarred from the impact with the floor.

Almost in a trance now, she pulled the hairy arachnid from her stomach, ready to hurl it outside.
Jaiswal had gone to the toilet to take a leak. The noise of the door breaking drew him out. Meera hesitated for the tiniest fraction of a second, before she threw the spider at her assailant, with whatever strength her shoulder could muster.

Jaiswal’s hair stood on the back of his nape as he saw his deadly pet being flung towards him. Its trajectory made a bee-line for his face. He stood rooted to the ground, dead still, shaving precious seconds off his reaction time. The spider was barely a couple of inches from his face, when his reflexes swung into action. His right arm jerked upwards and sideways in a wide arc before him. His hand intersected with the flight path of the tarantula and sent it hurtling across the room.

He barely had time to recover his wits, before he gasped from a sharp punch delivered to his solar plexus. Another blow quickly followed, knocking his wind out. Before he could realize what was going on, Meera had withdrawn Jaiswal’s dagger from his pocket, and plunged it deep into his guts.

The dagger was so sharp, he hardly felt it enter him. But the pain was there soon after, as an unwanted reminder. Jaiswal grunted, fighting with all his endurance to prevent himself from howling in torment.

Meera withdrew the blade and plunged it again. Blood spilled out like freshly opened champagne.
Despite the agony burning up his stomach, Jaiswal let out a low guttural laugh. “My my! Won't daddy be proud?” he managed to gasp out. “A ruthless killing machine for an adopted daughter. A nasty little thing, aren’t you?”

“Runs in the family, I guess,” she snarled.

“What?” Jaiswal clutched his stomach as his face clouded in surprise.

“Shinde? Remember?” Her lips curled into a sadistic half-smile.”What do you think I came here all the way by myself for? Could've easily called the cops, couldn't I?”

“Wait a min..you mean..you are..” Jaiswal's head was reeling now.

“Guess blood's thicker than water, after all.” As she came closer to him, her eyes gleamed with a cruel intensity. And she pushed the blade one more time, spilling out his red guts on the floor. “That’s for killing my father, ass-hole!”

Sixteen years ago, she had been hiding. Just like tonight. Under a different bed. In a different house. Peeping from under the bed, she had witnessed Jaiswal slitting her father's throat with her very eyes. Jaiswal's haughty, upturned nose and cruel countenance were seared into her memories.

Tonight, sixteen years later, the moment she had first set her eyes on him, Meera had recognized Jaiswal as her father's killer. Hatred quickly purged out fear the more she looked at him from under the bed. The birth of her desire, to avenge the twin-deaths of her father and her childhood ,was instantaneous.

“You'll never get away with...” Jaiswal stopped, unable to speak any longer. It just hurt too much.

“Oh, I think I'll,” Meera replied with a sinister insouciance.

That ominous indifference was all too familiar to Jaiswal. Shinde used to have the same after he summarily dispatched his victims.

Jaiswal couldn't stand on his feet anymore. His knees dropped to the floor. The edges of his eyes were being invaded by a sea of blackness, and Meera continued speaking. “I guess I'll just take the ring. Sell it. And get on with my life. No point returning to my home. Don’t think folks will miss me there, anyway!”

“You think...”, Jaiswal was breathing heavily now, barely forcing his mouth to move as he spoke with pauses, “it 's gonna be ...so easy..do you? ..Selling that shit....you d-don't know anybody.”

“Oh, I'll manage,” Meera said with an assured smile. “Thanks for the concern.”

It was the last thing Jaiswal heard before he passed out. Last thing he would ever hear.

Meera retrieved the stone from Jaiswal's bag and wishfully wondered what Rahim uncle and she could do with fifty lacs to spare. Rahim should be able to get a buyer. He had been her late father's associate in his particular line of work. He still had the contacts.

As she walked out of the house to a breaking dawn, she couldn't help keep her mind off how she would look in a pair of Louis Vuitton shoes.

Or Gucci. With maybe a Prada handbag to go with it.
~The End~

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Thicker Than Water-II

Present day: Two hours ago

Meera sighed as she looked at the Louis Vuitton shoes her sister, Sameera, had got for her birthday. There was no way her parents would splurge so much on her.

They were nothing alike, she and her sister. Sameera was the outgoing Queen Bee who dressed in Hollister skirts and Abercrombie tops. Meera was the one who lurked around by herself in thrift-store clothing and ragged sneakers. Sameera carried around a practically limitless credit card. Sameera was their parents' favourite, and everyone knew it. It was an open secret.

She blinked back a tear and punched in the number of the only person she could call at times like these.

“Hello, Rahim uncle?” Her voice quivered.

“Meera?”  an elderly man’s voice sounded at the other end. “ You alright?”

“No.”A salty tear traced a thin line across her cheek.

“What happened?” Rahim’s voice dripped with concern.

“They don’t love me,” anger and resentment flooded through every syllable of hers. “They never did. They just love her.”

“They love you, child,” Rahim said in a kind and compassionate tone. “They took good care of you, didn’t they?”

“They took care, but never learnt to care.” Meera couldn’t stop sobbing now. “Guess blood is thicker than water after all.”

Sixteen years ago, Meera was adopted from an orphanage by Sriram and his wife. Meera was barely five then. For a brief moment, she had become the cynosure of the couple’s eyes.  She was all the husband and wife could think  and talk of. Meera couldn’t help feeling happy then. But a few months later, Mrs. Sriram conceived a child. And things never remained the same. Soon, Meera started feeling like a broken toy who no one wanted to play with.

Rahim had been a friend of Meera’s real father. After Meera’s father had passed away, Rahim got her admitted in a foster home. He had a special fondness for her, but never felt he could take the responsibility of a child on his bachelor shoulders. It didn’t take long for Meera to get adopted, but Rahim made sure to keep in touch with her.  As far as Meera was concerned, Rahim uncle was her lifeline. His burly chest was something in which she could bury her teary face and forget that  the world outside existed. Rahim would let her be like that for hours, stroking her hair gently, until her well of tears dried up.

“Everything will be all right,” Rahim spoke softly into the phone. “Trust me.”

“I only wish...”, she left the sentence hanging.

“What, Meera?”

“If only I could do something to make daddy and mommy love me again,” Meera answered despondently. “I can’t take this much longer.”

“I want you to remember that I’ll be here for you,” Rahim reminded her gently. “Always.”

They spoke for a few minutes more. It was two in the night when she hung up. The food left on her study-desk was cold and untouched. She was in no mood to eat tonight. Everyone in the house was sound asleep.  She walked over to the window to feel the night breeze, hoping it would soothe her. Instead, she was greeted by a strange sight.

Outside, six storeys down, their domestic help Suraj was engaged in a conversation with another man. The man was leaning on his Swift Dzire, and seemed to be giving Suraj some instructions.

Meera’s curiosity and alarm shot up a couple of notches when she saw Suraj leading the mysterious man into their building. The watchman was snoring away.

Meera went over to where her sister was sleeping and nudged her.

No response.

She nudged her again, a little bit harder this time.

No. Still nothing.

Sameera had never been a light sleeper. Meera sighed and went to her parents’ bedroom. She nudged both her mom and dad.

 Not a stir. Not even an irritated grunt.

Agitated and frightened, she started shaking them really hard. Much to her woe, they continued sleeping soundly.

Drugged!  The realization hit her like someone had kicked her in the stomach. The food! Suraj must have put something in the food! She was awake just because she didn’t eat it.Just then, she heard the door to their flat unlock. They were here!Meera quickly hid beneath her parents’ bed. Footsteps fell soon after on the smooth marble floor of that room.

“That safe, sir,” she heard Suraj say to the man.

She watched as two pair of feet moved across the room to the safe in the corner. She poked her head out just a bit to get a glimpse of what was going on.

As her eyes fell on Jaiswal, his appearance sent a frigid wave down Meera’s back. Upturned nose. A haughty and cold face. Sinister eyebrows, complete with thin triangle like eyes below. A properly trimmed goatee completed the look. Fear and revulsion continued tightening their grip on her the more she looked at that  face.

Jaiswal didn’t waste any time. Time was always a safecracker’s greatest enemy. With Suraj’s assistance, he turned the heavy safe around. He then brought out a drilling machine from his back-pack and quickly drilled two holes in the rear of the safe.  He put the driller back into his bag and brought out a long, thin, flexible tube. It had an eyepiece on one end, and another lens on the other. It was a fiber-optic viewer called a borescope . Deftly, he inserted the borescope through one of the drilled holes and  a special extra-long screwdriver through the other. Jaiswal could now use the borescope to see the screws and wheel pack keeping the safe lock in place. His jaw tightened in determination, as he slowly used the screwdriver to move the wheels into position to allow the bolt to pass.

The safe door swung open. Jaiswal paid no heed to the bundles of cash and the legal papers. From the back of the safe, he brought out a thin, small box. His clenched and unclenched his other fist in anticipation as he opened the clasp. Sure enough, the ring was there.

“Suraj, do you know how much this ring is worth?” Jaiswal smiled a crooked smile and beamed at the domestic help.

Suraj just stared at him stupidly.

“Fifty lacs,” Jaiswal grinned, basking in a sense of accomplishment.

“Fifty?” Suraj’s eyes widened.

“And this wouldn’t have been possible without you,”  Jaiswal thanked him , before swiftly grabbing Suraj’s head by the mouth and the back of his skull. Surprise and terror got scrawled in bold all over the  boy’s face.

“Sorry, but I always sucked at saying thanks,” Jaiswal muttered under his breath and then twisted the head with a sudden, violent jerk, rupturing Suraj’s vertebrae.

The assignment went bloodless after all, he thought smugly as Suraj’s lifeless body slumped to the floor.

Jaiswal turned his back to the bed and started collecting his stuff back into his bag. To his dismay, he found that his borescope had got stuck in the hole somehow. He grunted, as he kept poking at the hole to extricate his piece of expensive equipment.

While the pulling and tugging kept him occupied, he didn’t notice a girl crawling out from under the bed and fleeing the room.

A couple of minutes later, Jaiswal had managed to pull out his tool and place everything in his bag. He started whistling as he walked out the door of the flat. Soon after, he was seated in his car. He opened his bag again to check if everything was in place. Assured that things were in order, he shoved his key into the ignition and revved away. Unaware that Meera had quietly slipped into the back of his car.

For daddy! Meera thought to herself as the car started.

To Be Continued..

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Thicker Than Water

A cold shiver ran down Meera’s spine as the darkness engulfed her. Not a tiny crack of light anywhere. She tried to move, but her arms were blocked by the doors in front and the shelves behind. There was hardly an inch or so between her breasts and the doors. She let out a sob and cramped her hands against the doors, pushing with all her might. The rough edges of the wooden shelves dug rudely into her back, as she heaved and strained. The solid heavy doors didn't even creak. She screamed. And screamed again. Cold sweat rushed out of her skin pores. And then she felt it.

Something ticklish crawling up her leg. She went limp in fear .

 She was cooped up in a pitch dark cupboard with a  massive, hairy tarantula. Terror etched itself onto her brain, her heart dreading the moment when its fangs would sink into her skin.

Five days ago

“Tarantula,” Jaiswal said as he lit a cigarette.”The name has an interesting history.”

“Hmm?” Vidyut raised his eyebrow quizzically.

“The true tarantula,” Jaiswal uttered and paused a moment for a puff, “was a European Wolf Spider named after the town of Taranto. Southern Italy. People were shit scared of its venom. And people bitten had to avoid falling into a coma by dancing to a lively tune known as the tarantella.”

“Nasty little things,” Vidyut chuckled as he took a sip of his whiskey. “You sure have a crazy test in pets.”
Jaiswal's obsession with poisonous spiders was known to everybody acquainted with him. His previous pet had been a cobalt blue tarantula, which he had flown in from Thailand. He would stand in front of it for hours. Marveling at its iridescent blue legs and light gray body with a child-like fascination in his eyes.

 “I call my new pet Shinde,” Jaiswal sounded smug.

“Shinde?!” Vidyut stared at Jaiswal. “Why the fuck did you name it after your...”

“Sign of respect,” Jaiswal didn't let his companion finish and smiled a wry smile. “That man taught me everything I know.”

“And you slit his neck!” Vidyut blurted. “ Lovely!”

“Eliminating competition,” Jaiswal replied unperturbed, “ is always a bullet-proof business strategy, my friend.”

“Cut-throat competition, huh?” Vidyut sniggered and gestured slicing his own wind-pipe.

Jaiswal's lips curled in amusement too. But the smile vanished a fraction of a second later.

“So you think this ring is that valuable?” His tone became matter-of-fact and intent.

“Fifty lacs. Easily.” Vidyut put down his whiskey and turned his gaze at Jaiswal.

Jaiswal ground his cigarette stub in the ash-tray and turned to his associate.  “Fifty lacs? You sure?”

“Positive,” Vidyut smiled, exposing his gums as well as his gilded pre-molars. “The right customer may even cough up sixty.”

“I still can’t believe such a priceless ring can be found… there,” Jaiswal shook his head incredulously.

“Mr. Sriram’s grand-father was a heavy hitter in the government circles,” Vidyut answered. “He pulled a lot of strings."

“A black opal ring gifted to Lord Curzon by the Queen herself!” Jaiswal whistled. “And the government just forgot about it!”

“When all the valuables were being catalogued after Independence, some got conveniently lost or misplaced,” Vidyut grinned goofily. “That ring never existed as far as the authorities are concerned.”

“I just wonder how much bureaucratic influence Sriram’s grand old man had to pull off a stunt like that,” Jaiswal mused in amazement.

“The irony is-Sriram himself doesn’t have a clue about the worth of that thing.”

“Hmm. There is no way he would keep the ring at his own house if he knew.”

“Can’t blame him,” Vidyut poured in two pegs of Signature into his empty glass. “Very few people do. Come to think of it. It’s merely an accident that we came to know about this. If it hadn’t been for our guy at the government office, those papers citing the grand-dad’s connection to the ring would never have been found.”

“The grandpa never told anybody in his family??!!!”

“Sriram’s grand-father died soon after Independence. Maybe he just didn’t get the chance.”

“Hmm,” Jaiswal stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I shall pay Mr.Sriram’s place a visit then.”

“When can I expect the ring?” Vidyut’s voice remained mirthful, but his eyes took on an odd intentness.

“End of this week,” Jaiswal replied without hesitation.

“And what do you plan to do about that boy Suraj?”

“I don’t know.” Jaiswal picked up his dagger lying on the table. Moving his fingers gingerly over the blade, he said, “Why keep loose ends? The cops will definitely pull him up for questioning. It would be a pity if he blurts everything out.”

Suraj was the helping-hand at Sriram’s house. He was the one who had divulged the whereabouts of the ring to Jaiswal in exchange for fifty grand.

“Damn!” Vidyut grimaced. “I was hoping to keep this assignment quick and clean. No blood.”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll think of something,” Jaiswal smiled wickedly.

To Be Continued...

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Just hate me...

It's not me I' m worried about.

Not my heart, but it's you.

I live with pain, I snuff it out.

But for you, it is too new.

We live far apart,far too much-

I can't bask in your scent;

The distances are vast as such,

All we can do is resent.

Can't drown my face in your hair,

Can't kiss or cradle your chin;

Can't blow you kisses in the air.

Can't stroke your lips as you grin.

But far more important, far more

Is that I make others suffer.

Hearts which loved me, they tore.

They couldn't be any tougher.

To want me is to die and cry,

Shallow hopes wind up in flames.

The river of tears won't dry,

When your soul this craving claims.

So shun me,stay away from me,

I'm not worth the anguish, worth the ache.

Hate me, loathe me, run away, just flee.

Lest your heart gets seared by a stake.

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Trying not to love you

Rohit stated incredulously, "Really? Your eyes didn't sting or anything? I mean not even a teeny weeny bit?"

Monica shook her head with a naughty stubbornness. "No, I didn't cry a bit!"

"You're such a guy!" Rohit's lips broke into a teasing smile. "How could anybody hold back the tears after watching Barfi 's ending?"

"Seriously,what size bra do you wear?" Monica remarked, a hint of mischief twinkling in her eyes. "I'm not so  girly and emo like you!"

"Hey!" Rohit laughed and replied. "I'm just nice, friendly, and I've never been in rehab. An ISO 9001 certified decent guy!"

"Whatever!" Monica rolled her eyes dismissively.

Rohit pretended to bring something from his back. With his fist holding that imaginary object, he brought it to his nose, closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He then opened his eyes, crouched on his knees and presented Monica with the dreamed-up article. He smiled sweetly as he looked up at her.

Monica's face lit up in amusement as she pretended to be touched. "Flowers?! How thoughtful!"

Rohit got up on his feet, brushing off imaginary dust off his clothes. He immediately flashed a bright smile, raising his left hand and opening out the thumb and index finger below his lips. Like Ranbir Kapoor used to do in 'Barfi'.

Monica burst out laughing. "So you're Barfi now? And we are what..playing dumb charades, is it?"

He threw both his arms outwards animatedly and took a bow. He then extended his right arm to her, as if asking for her hand.

"You asking me out?" Monica touched her chest and blinked her eyes repeatedly, feigning disbelief at her good fortune.

Rohit nodded and smiled happily.

Monica's eyes gleamed wickedly and she said irritably, "Look, I, I tried calling you. I've got an awful headache, and a stomach ache, and several highly contagious diseases. I’m afraid tonight won't work out."

Rohit, like the textbook definition of a sensitive guy, looked crestfallen.

Monica pouted her lips and made a sad face. "I'm sorry."

Rohit pointed to the non-existent flowers.

"Well, yes, the flowers are nice," she agreed.

Rohit began prancing around, picking off flowers from hard to reach imaginary trees and bushes.

"You went to so much trouble?" Monica made a puppy face.

Rohit pointed to her.

"Just for me?"

Rohit nodded.

"How thoughtful. But, well, I'm really not feeling well..."

Rohit made a long face, grunted and looked away.

Monica couldn't help grinning. "Gee, I hardly ever meet a guy who's willing to show his feelings. Oh, well. Just a short one, okay ?"

The deaf and mute Barfi was all-smiles again.

"So. .. What did you have in mind for this evening?" Monica looked questioningly at him.

Rohit mimed eating.

"Dinner." Monica said out aloud.

Rohit mimed dancing.

"Dancing," she exclaimed gleefully.  "I love to dance."

Rohit mimed kissing.

"Uh, let me tell you where I'm coming from,  Barfi," Monica started to protest. "It's just, well, you seem very nice, and your style is very... retro, but I’m just not into dating for dating's sake any-more. I finally think I'm ready to develop something... substantial."

Rohit pointed to himself, indicating that he was substantial.

"Oh, I'm sure you're very substantial, but, well, I am playing for keeps, and I want someone who could take care of me."

Rohit flexed his biceps.

"But who's still sensitive."

Rohit pointed to the fictional flowers.

"And who isn't afraid of intimacy."

Rohit mimed kissing.

"I meant emotional intimacy," Monica stomped her foot and stated angrily.

Rohit grunted, "Oh.” He cocked his head sideways, rested his cheek on his fist, and started writing in the air with his other hand.

Monica lifted her eyebrows. "What are you doing? A poem?"

Rohit nodded. He mimed a globe.

"The world...," Monica tried to decipher.

Rohit nodded and then mimed craziness.

"Is crazy."

He enthusiastically bobbed his head up and down, and then he stood firmly with his feet shoulder width apart. 

"We're standing-"

Rohit looked down, as on the edge of a precipice.

"On the edge of... of..."

Rohit brought his hands very close together, indicating a small word. 

"A, an... On the edge of an..."

Rohit repeated the small word gesture.

"Uh... A!"

He mimed urinating.

"Eww! What? Urinal?... Pee?... Piss?"

Rohit agreed enthusiastically, and motioned to group the two together.

"We're standing on the edge of an a-piss... abyss! We're standing on the edge of an abyss." Monica almost jumped in elation.

He pointed to his eye, and drew a straight line towards her.

"But...I...see...you."

He mimed ”small word " again and then nodded when she got it.

"A, and..and..."

He pointed to her and mimed her shape.

"You... you are a Coke bottle."

He shook his head disapprovingly and continued.

"You have a have nice figure."

He brought his arms outwards, indicating ”more. ”

"You're beautiful."

Rohit nodded affirmatively.

"But I see you and you're beautiful."

He touched his heart.

"My heart..."

He filled his heart.

"Is filled..."

He mimed ”small word" then nodded.

"With? My heart is filled with..."

Rohit pretended to pick up two sticks, rub them together, and make fire. Monica stared at him curiously, unable to figure him out.

He then pretended to burn a finger. He covered it with his mouth.

"Oh, you've burned your finger. You have a blister. So you wanted to say- My heart is filled with blisters?"

Rohit asked her to repeat and repeat, and then he stuck his hand over her mouth in mid-word.

"My heart is filled with blisters. My heart is filled with blis.."

Rohit stopped.

"My heart is filled with bliss."

Rohit bowed gallantly.

"Oh, that was adorable." Monica squealed in delight.

But Rohit wasn't finished. He came close to her and rubbed his finger lightly against her eyelids. He then held out the finger for her to see.

"Mascara? My mascara?"

Rohit nodded and while looking intently at her, rubbed that finger from below his eye to his cheek.

"Huh?"

Rohit rubbed his eyes, pretending to cry.

"Tears? Tears...Mascara ...Mascara running down my eyes."

Rohit pointed to his watch and then at her.

"Time. When. When you've mascara running down your eyes."

He nodded again and then encircled his arms as if hugging someone.

"Hug? I want to hug you. When you've mascara running down your eyes, I want to hug you."

He mimed ”small word " again.

"And?"

Rohit's eyes brightened and he brushed his finger over his right ear.

"Brush hair over ear. When you've mascara running down your eyes, I want to hug you and brush your hair over your ear."

Rohit grinned grandly.

"That was freaking awesome!!!!" Monica's voice danced.

"So," Rohit finally spoke, "you felt any real connection between us two?"

"Um," Monica replied haltingly. "Rohit...I don't know...I.."

"Hey, chill!" Rohit chortled. "Just messing with ya! So when is your date coming? It's ten already."

Rohit and Monica were standing on a lonely footpath, a couple of minutes walk from the theater where they had just watched Barfi a little while ago.

"Do I look okay?" A little bit of anxiety crept into Monica's voice as she straightened her dress. "Is this too tight?  Not tight enough? What do you think?"

"He he. Okay doesn't even begin to cover it. I hope he doesn't stand you up though." Rohit looked into the distance, waiting for any headlights to show up.

"He better not," Monica said grimly. "I'm gonna kick his ass otherwise."

"Looks like his sorry ass heard you," he said cheerily. "Here he comes." 

A Swift Dzire pulled up shortly in front of them. Rohit momentarily froze as he saw the reflection of them,  standing together,  framed on the car window. Monica's lustrous black hair outlined her oval face like an exquisite wavy casing and it cascaded over her creamy-white bare shoulders like a soft waterfall. But it was her eyes which always got him. Those dark eyes, so knowing and secretive. Eyes which kept thoughts enticingly closed, an imposing wall filled with memories and speculation. It was just too tempting to scale that wall. Without permission. 

The reflection drowned as the car window rolled down. A head with a shock of wavy hair bobbed out and said, "Hi Mon. Hey Rohit. Sorry for.."

"You're late, you ass!" Monica folded her arms and burst out.

"Hey, Money honey..got caught up," the guy apologized. "I'll make it up to you. Promise."

"We shall see," Monica said unrelentingly. As she got into the car, she poked her head out and said, "Rohit, thanks a lot. See ya tomorrow, okay?"

"Hey, Rohit, thanks for watching over her," the guy smiled. "Bye. Good night."

Rohit just smiled weakly in response. It didn't escape Monica's notice.

As the car peeled away the footpath, Rohit thrust his hands into his jeans pockets and started walking. He had no wish to come out with Monica tonight. But she had insisted. And although the idea of baby-sitting her while they waited for her boyfriend had turned him off like a bag full of cockroaches, he still relented. 

Just then, his cellphone beeped. It was a message from Monica.

"Hey, you okay, nah? Everything cool? You looked a bit off."

Rohit's fingers flew as he punched in his response. "OK? I'm fallin apart jus thinking of you 2 getting cozy together in dat car of his. :-P LOL. Just 4get abt me and njoy urself.:-D".

Two seconds later, his cellphone beeped again. It was her. "Jerk!:-P Fk u!"

Rohit smiled to himself, as his fingers moved to the music player of his phone, scrolled through the playlist and finally selected a number. He resumed walking, as the sound of the song, "Trying not to love you" by Nickelback, filled the silent night air. 

The End

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