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??!! :-)
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.
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.
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?”
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!!
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~
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.
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.
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?"
"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.
**Disclaimer: For adults only. If raunchy stuff is not your thing, or you are below 18, just stay away! :-D Rest of you, hop in!! **
I stared down at the naked woman sleeping next to me, noting the way her long dark hair fanned out across her pillow like someone had spilled a pot of black grape-juice, and told myself this would be the day, this would finally be the day that I left her.
Her bare shoulder peeked out from the under the covers and I mentally connected her freckles like dots, imagining I was doing it with my finger instead.
Maneka was so beautiful when she slept. Well, she was beautiful all the time, but there was something about the way she looked when she was sleeping that was particularly beautiful, an innocence about her, maybe, that made her look almost, well, blemish-less. That was no small feat considering that just the night before she had downed six cans of beer and begging for more. Somehow, in spite of that, she still looked innocent when she slept.
If only I still loved her.
Maneka twitched in her sleep, shifting under the bed-covers with a little sigh. This would have been the perfect time. I could just slip out of bed, stuff some clothes into a suitcase and be gone before she was ever the wiser. But I thought that yesterday morning, and the morning before that, and the morning before that one, and always I found some excuse to stay. It was raining, and I didn't want to drive amidst the chaotic traffic. Or it was sunny and I didn't want to waste a beautiful day hitting up friends for a room to crash in. There was always some reason that day couldn't be the day.
Leaning forward, I pressed my lips to the back of her neck, kissing her gently. Maneka moaned softly, stirring under the blankets, pushing her naked body back against mine as if by instinct. Her firm, round ass slipped into the hollow between my legs, fitting there perfectly, snug against my maleness. I purred against her neck. As I nibbled her skin I slid my hand over her hips, easing around her to cup a breast, kneading it with heel of my palm, using my thumb to stroke her nipple, teasing the plump little nub firm. She pushed back against me even harder, grinding her butt against my very hard staff, and still, even as I coated her ass with my juices, I thought, this would be the day I finally left her, left Maneka.
I let go of her breast and slid my hand down her soft little round belly, reaching between her legs, easing my fingers down the length of her furrow. Maneka moaned in answer, arching her hips at me, wordlessly begging for it, begging for my touch. I rubbed her cuntlips, tenderly, feeling the slickness of her coating my fingers, her folds swollen with desire, hot and wet and wanting me. Then Maneka parted her thighs a little and I slid into her, dipped my finger into her wet flesh and wiggled it. She called this frigging, said she liked to be frigged, and I did, I frigged her, swirled my finger around inside her like I was stirring the juices simmering in her pussy. Maneka whimpered softly, the way she did when she wanted to come, like a trapped little puppy wanting to be let of a locked room when company was over. I dragged my finger over her clit, stroking the hard little pebble, rubbing it, tracing the shape of it with the tip of my finger. Her breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps then she started to hiccup like a frightened child, and I knew she was almost there, that she was going to come for me. I rubbed her clit a little harder, a little faster, feeling it throbbing under my fingertip, pulsing wildly, out of control, and as her body shuddered in climax I thought about the suitcase in the closet, just waiting to be packed.
As the last tremors of climax faded I kissed the back of her neck again, tasting the saltiness of her skin. Maneka purred and snuggled back against me, pressing her body even tighter against mine. I kept my arm around her waist and her hands moved under the blankets to cover mine, trap it, hold it against her belly.
"Good morning," I whispered.
"Mm," Maneka murmured, "A very good morning.That was nice."
I nuzzled my face in her black curls, breathing in the scent of her expensive salon shampoo, knowing that it wouldn't be the day after all, that I wasn't going to leave her, that I couldn't leave her today of all days.
"Happy birthday," I whispered.
I wondered again if I had to leave her really because I wanted to. Or because I had to. Maneka and I would never work out. All our nights of passion, and on not a single one did I dare enter her. We were first cousins after all.
Tomorrow I would run out reasons not to go. Definitely.
Maybe.
The End
Author's note: Trying something new and totally unfamiliar is a very intimidating task. :-D I almost wet my pants while writing this out, and no, not the fun-kinda wetting. Till now, my stories had been relatively 'clean', restricting themselves to a little bit of cussing here and there. But, this story just went over-board, treading dangerous territory.:-P Anyway, hopefully, you guys had fun reading this. Do tell me what you thought. Adios!
There is a schoolmate of mine, settled in US, who once told me ,"Choice is the root of all evil". It was kinda an odd-ball discussion to be having on a FB chat, but then again weirder stuff has happened with me on social forums. (Don't ask!!) He was actually trying to impress on me the viability of an arranged marriage over a romantic one. Apparently, his mom had got hold of a foreigner (who according to my friend was pretty hot) for him to tie the knot with. The point he was trying to sell me was- the girl really did not have much choice in the marriage. She couldn't really say NO (yup, don't ask M.E. where she hails from!! If the initials make some sense, you are clever). And mind you, this is not even taking place in India, but on foreign shores. Since she had been bred not to assert her independent choices, my friend opined that it would lead to a complication-free marriage life. He was confident of his innate goodness (bless his soul!) and his capability to treat her well. Since, in his own words, he was "a good guy"!
It's an interesting concept. Earlier marriages (those of our folks and grand-folks) seemed to work because people really did not have the choice to opt out. Women were not self-dependent, divorce was a taboo, a woman staying away from her in-laws' home for long periods was frowned upon, men did not have women working in their offices, so extra-marital affairs had a relatively low incidence, husbands and wives have pre-defined roles handed down to them, and there was not much they could do to change it. Society was a lot more stereotypical those days. People had a pre-specified template to fit into. Individuality really didn't count much back in that era. I know, I kinda make 'that era' sound like something out of our history books, but seriously...Comparing ol' times with ours is like placing your old time local grocery store by the side of a modern supermarket. The friendly neighbourhood grocery-man offers less choices, hence less confusion. The Dr Octopus of the super-markets grapples you with its tentacles of options and causes your head to spin. And in the matrimony supermarket, choices of husbands, choices of wives, choices of lovers- things don't really stay that simple.
Since the last few weeks, I have read up a lot on what people have to say about arranged or love marriages. Mostly the same stuff, written in various flavors. Don't get me wrong, folks! This topic hits a dead-end at one point. We all know the foregone conclusion- marriage is about the willingness to adjust and compromise. Love or arranged- it basically counts for nothing. There is a risk involved in everything.
The sad truth about today’s marriages is that many of them fail. I don't mean, just ending up in divorce. But failing to provide meaning and fulfillment in the lives of the couple. Most marriages start out great but the stress and difficulties of everyday life often take their toll. Love and adjustment really have their hands full. They have to contend with money, careers, family demands, a lack of communication, jealousy, family interference, parenting and (Oh boy!) boredom. Marriage is not easy, folks. Far from it. #true story#
I guess, after a point of time, a couple eventually runs out of stimulating topics to talk about. Yeah, arguing over who is going to the sabzi market to haggle for the best prices isn't exactly romantic. Once wed, between fatigue, stress and the constant demands of everyday living, communication begins to break down. Then, one day they find they don’t talk as much as they used to or the conversations they are having lack substance and meaning. And then add to it, the resentment and grudge building up, all the blame over unmet expectations, a lack of honesty , the peeling away of mutual respect, and the next thing you know, you are looking around for a good divorce lawyer. The solution to all this? Open and honest communication to be made a constant priority in marriage. Sounds easy? I'm sure it is not. You've to slog all day in office and you can't be yourself at home. No rest. No respite.
I've always found male-female friendships a confusing area. I mean just how much of intimacy between people of opposite genders can be tolerated before a husband or a wife earns the right to start smelling something fishy? Jealousy is another common reason that many marriages break up. Once married, many people expect their spouse to give up friendships with members of the opposite sex. Innocent interactions among friends are sometimes misconstrued and, if not handled properly with honesty and openness, jealousy and mistrust grow. Lots of gray areas in this one. When you love someone deeply, insecurity is bound to creep in. You start caring about that person and just can't remain aloof anymore.
I remember a line from the movie "Ghosts of Girlfriends' Past" which went like this- "Someone once told me that the power in all relationships lies with whoever cares less, and he was right. But power isn't happiness, and I think that maybe happiness comes from caring more about people rather than less... "
Problem is- jealousy inevitably rears its ugly green-eyes head when you start genuinely caring for somebody. If a couple lets things go out of hand, a lack of trust and openness mixed with bitterness will break down the marriage. Let's face the truth-marriage will inevitably change previously established friendships, especially with members of the opposite sex. Ideally, neither spouse should have to give up those well-established friendships to suit a mate. In an ideal world, one has to include one's spouse in one's friendships and work to foster trust among one's friends and the spouse, but that's too much of work, right? I mean, what are the odds your spouse will actually like the people you do? Or your friends will like your spouse for that matter?
Seen "Meet the Parents" ? Robert Di Niro gives Ben Stiller, his prospective son-in-law, a hell of a time when he visits them over the weekend. While the movie provided great laughs and a hilarious take on the subject of in-laws' disapproval, truth is- if you don’t like yours, that dislike often causes trouble for years. Family often causes a great deal of stress in a marriage (do I have someone nodding his head sadly among the readers there?); familial conflicts also frequently lead to the demise of the marriage. Interfering in-laws often put stress on marriages by trying to force a spouse to choose between their marriage and their family. The recently married girl in my project team has to flee the office before 6 pm everyday because of her hubby dearest's insistence. And did I mention, her family had to cough up 9 lacs in dowry too? Ok, maybe I am diverting from the topic here. Bottom-line is, the scene looks bleak. Parents aren't always the heaven's gift to children which we imagine them to be.
With divorces on the rise, so are re-marriages. So what does a bloke or a gal do with the step-children and ex-spouses that come with second marriages add stress to the new family dynamic? Everyone has to be added carefully into the blended family mix. And everyone seems to have an idea about how to raise children, leading to more friction, often resulting in the inability of the new family to mesh correctly. So when you marry, you think you are bringing in bliss to your home? I guess we need to think again.
I recently watched "American Reunion", the latest installment in the American Pie series. (Yeah, those are the kind of movies I watch. Sorry, guilty as charged!) In that movie, there is a moment when the character Jim confesses sadly to his dad that his marital life hasn't been as much fun since he and his wife had a kid. And it is here that Jim's dad drops in a pearl of profound wisdom. You cannot let parenthood make you forget that you are also husband and wife.While a child comes as a blessing, parenting can also be overwhelming for any couple. The introduction of a child into the marriage shakes up things, dramatically in some cases, as each spouse must now also take on the role of parent. Couples often become so caught up caring for their new baby that they forget to make time to focus on each other. In addition, spouses might feel left out of the new relationship. If you take my two cents worth of advice, I guess couples should enlist the help of babysitters and grandparents so that they might make time to focus their energy and time on their relationship.
Marital boredom!!! You know the way things are going, I won't be surprised if one day boredom becomes a factor in the dissolution of many marriages. It isn't really difficult for couples to simply grow bored and grow apart from one another over time. They see the marriage become stagnant and, rather than working to resolve the problems in the marriage or add new life to the relationship, desire to move on. Of course, truth be told, when they find someone else to settle with, they discover they have just traded one set of problems for another. But I guess, boredom is perhaps the easiest fight to avoid. Make a commitment, as a couple, to spend time doing things together, travel or surprise each other. Focus on adding new energy to your relationship to keep it fresh and strong.
All the merry scenarios I described above are equally applicable to love as well as arranged marriages. Maybe, just maybe, arranged marriages are a little bit more secure in some ways. Less expectations, less disappointments. You know, there is an escapism involved in opting for arranged weddings. People don't want to take charge of their own lives. They want to thrust the responsibility of choosing a suitable life-partner on someone else's shoulders. I guess when people do that, they automatically turn down the regulator dial of their hopes as well. Maybe that's one way of saving a marriage. Temper your anticipations. But then again, settling down with a complete stranger is a much worse proposition than buying a pair of jeans you have never put on in a trial room. At least, the so called love marriages can mentally prepare you somewhat for what's headed your way.
Which brings me to an interesting thing. Neuroscientists claim love isn’t an emotion; it is activation of the reward center in our fore-brains (I know I sound geeky with all that fat glasses look and all). And new love (the first 7 months to be precise) produces a chemical response similar to narcotics. I guess it isn't so hard to make relationship mistakes when you know you are on drugs. Red roses bloom in your heart, your reddened derriere throbs from the puncture Cupid's arrows made in it.It’s easy to do something that seems like a good idea, say move in or start to make long term plans, when life seems so grand. Shit, everything seems so great, you think you can spend the rest of your natural or supernatural existence with that person.The point is, if the bloom comes off the rose and you've made commitments, you could easily end up waking up next to someone after 5 years and wonder, ‘What the fuck have I done?”
Unfortunately, once you settle the interior decor of your new house and your dopamine runs out (i.e. roses ain't so rosy anymore), you generally assume the relationship can be fixed because it had been “so good". But then again, life can be quite a prick sometimes and you start pricking your fingers on the now glaringly apparent thorns.
So,all in all, if you are already married, best of luck. If you are planning to get married, best of luck then too. If you are not planning to get married, God bless you, for sure as hell, your parents and married friends will force you to. Just keep your expectations in check, will you? Hope for the best and expect the worst, as they always say. So that when life usually hands you something mid-way, you don't get showered in the piss from the busted balloon of deluded dreams and fantasies you built up.
“Hey brother!,” came a velvety voice from the street along side the dark Koregaon Park.
Vishal reluctantly stopped and looked at her, sweat dripping under his shirt.
“Where are you sneaking to, handsome?”
“Er, nowhere. I’m just..,” Vishal didn't know how to complete the sentence.
“Better watch out. It’s not safe walking alone this late around here,” the gorgeous woman said.
She was one of many hookers that stand around the big park. Vishal had come around to sneak a look at them, as he did on lonely Saturday nights. But look is all that he did.
“I assume you got money?”
“No. How much?,” asked Vishal.
“Just 5,000 will buy you an hour with lil’ ol’ me… Interested?”
“Er, yes…but I don't have that much money.”
“How much have you got?”
“2000.”
She laughed so enticingly.
“For that you get one finger,” she said, lifting up her index finger.
“One finger?”
“Give me the money and I’ll show you,” she said with a wonderful smile.
The woman approached him now with exaggerated swaying steps. Her excessive perfume arrived well before her body in the humid night.
She pulled Vishal by the hand behind a defunct phone booth and placed both his hands on her ample and soft breasts.
“Go on, squeeze. It’s a bonus,” she laughed.
Vishal did as he is told, and just about melted into the night from the pleasure of it. He could do this all night and all day.
The young woman now placed his right hand under her skirt where it met a dense bush of soft hair, not covered by any underwear.
She put his middle finger on her warm and moist opening, as a pungent smell rose.
“Go for it,” she said.
Go for what?, Vishal thought.
Instinctively, he held his breath and slipped in his middle finger to its base. The tight hole squeezed it alarmingly in return.
“Now you’ve got it. Or I got you, really,” she laughed.
“Oh, goodness, oh…”
“Good, is it?,” she asked.
“Oh yes … but…too late, too late,” mumbled Vishal, shuddering.
“Has the water main burst already? Don’t worry. Come to my house and I’ll clean you up,” the woman said.
Her house was dingy and filthy with just two rooms. There was a large and soiled one-way mirror built into the wall between the two rooms.
Vishal sat down in an armchair. The mirror gave the full view of the woman’s large bed in the next room.
"So what are you doing alone in this neighbourhood, handsome?" The woman smiled and spread her legs suggestively as she sat across from Vishal.
"Just needed to get some things off my chest," Vishal grinned in a calm manner. "Been up to a lot of naughty things lately."
The woman was surprised to see his sudden gain in composure.
"What's troubling you, huh?" She looked on at Vishal with a mischievous affection.
"My shrink tells me I've a lot of pent up emotional energy that does not find a release."
"That's sad. So what are you doing about it?" The concern in her velvety voice sounded too synthetic.
"I killed my ex-wife and her baby some nights ago," Vishal said non-chalantly."As well as her hubby. Trying to move on and find some closure now."
"What?" The woman's jaw dropped in surprise.
"You realize I'm going to have to kill you now, don't you?" Vishal's lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Nothing personal. Just can't afford too many people knowing about this."
The woman tried to bolt away from her chair but he was upon her in a flash. His big rough left hand clenched her right wrist tightly as his other hand coiled around her slender neck.
"If it's any consolation," Vishal started saying with an affected look of regret and remorse on his face, "I had no wish of finishing you off tonight. Thanks for the wonderful time though. But I'm kinda moody."
The woman started choking as his grip tightened on her windpipe.
"Nighty night, beautiful." His words fell ominously on her ears as darkness descended in her eyes.
-------- Two weeks ago
"Let my baby go, you psycho!!!" Radhika screamed in terrified agony, clutching her bleeding stomach where Vishal had just shot her.
"Oh, I think he kinda likes my toy," Vishal smiled a crooked sinister smile as he watched the baby eagerly grab the nozzle of his revolver, its big cherubic eyes dancing in wonder at the object in its hands.
The baby's father was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Vishal had cracked open his skull mercilessly with a heavy marble statue a few minutes ago.
"Vishal, please...don't," Radhika pleaded, her face a paroxysm of shock and fear.
"Oh,look, how cute," he observed cruelly as the baby started sucking on the nozzle ."Your kid has found a nice pacifier."
"Vishal,nooooooooooooooooo!!!!!" Blood gushed out even more forcefully as Radhika screamed on top of her lungs, straining her stomach in the process. "Fuck you, Vishal!! I am gonna kill you if you dare do anything with him."
"Funny thing," Vishal let out a guttural slur as he looked on at the baby. "Your mom always called me a sucker when she was with me. Life sure has a ....ironical way of evening out stuff." The baby had taken almost two inches of the gleaming metal into his mouth by now, happily sucking on it as if it were some candy.
"Bye bye, beautiful," Vishal winked as he pulled the trigger.
--- Present time
"So what do you want to report?" The paunchy police officer looked lazily at Vishal as he sat across from him in the police station.
"Murder.Three. Oh no. Make that four." Vishal replied ,pinching the bridge of his nose, as if suddenly remembering.
"Four murders?" The officer now sat up in his chair. "When? Where?"
"Three of them two weeks ago. One tonight." The corners of Vishal's lips curled up into an imperceptible sneer.
"And you witnessed them?"
"I should say," Vishal chortled."I killed them."
"Is this your idea of a joke? " The officer on duty said irritably. "One night in the lock-up will set you strai.."
"On the contrary," Vishal interrupted. "I am as serious as serious can be. My wife left me for another guy a year ago. She had been sleeping around with that fucker even when we were married. Got a kid from her dalliances. Sad for them, I snuffed out all three ..man, woman and baby."
"Didn't you mention four? " The officer's eyes squinted. The tone of the man had bothered him from the moment he heard it. There was a cold pathological aloofness to it. And his words were not helping making things any better.
"I killed a hooker tonight," Vishal continued with his characteristic insouciance."Don't ask me why. She was a sweet kid. We shared a....deep intimate moment." His lips curved into a smile involuntarily, savoring the memory. "Guess I was just getting tired of not killing anybody for so long."
"And you want to turn yourself in now? " The officer couldn't help sounding incredulous.
"Something like that.Not been able to sleep for the last two weeks. Frankly, not been sleeping at all for the last one year. Ever since the wifey walked out . Guilt and too much unresolved shit ,I guess."
"What exactly do you have in mind?" The officer's curiosity shot one notch higher.
"Yeah. I am about to attack you and I hope your constable out there can shoot straight enough to do me in." Vishal grinned and before the officer could react, Vishal had picked up a pen from the pen stand on the desk and pushed it into the officer's hand with brutish ruthlessness.
The officer howled in pain as blood spurted from where the pen punctured his hand. In an instant, Vishal was behind him and had taken out the policeman's revolver from its holster. A bead of sweat formed on the officer's forehead, as Vishal touched the cold metal against his Adam's Apple.
"Now maybe a good time for call for help," Vishal whispered in the cop's ear.
"Hari,help!!" The officer yelled, wincing in pain as he did so. "Bring everybody!!!"
A geriatric, bespectacled constable appeared seconds later, shakily aiming his rifle at Vishal. Behind his inch-thick lenses, his magnified fear-laced eyes looked hopelessly grotesque.
"This is everybody?" Vishal shook his head in a disappointed fashion and continued with sarcasm, "A toothless oldie who can't even hold his gun straight? I'm gonna pretend it is not symbolic in any way....A scathing commentary on our law and order."
"Hari,shoot him," the officer barked.
"Yeah,Hari...shoot me!!! And hurry up, will you?" Vishal shot back as he poked the revolver further into his hostage's throat.
Hari leveled his gun, but his hand continued shaking. The whole scene was almost funny to watch. Vishal could easily see Hari would miss him by a wide margin.
"At this rate, he is probably gonna end up shooting you in stead of me," Vishal smirked at the officer. "Maybe I should just kill you myself. And then him. Just where are all your other men, officer?"
"Please..don't shoot me," the officer pleaded, sweating profusely now.
"Give me one good reason why not," Vishal said with malevolent relish.
"I..I've a fiancee," the officer blurted. The rifle continued awkwardly oscillating like a vibrator in Hari's shaky hands.
"The line is..I've a wife and two kids," Vishal said with disdain. "And no..in my book..that still falls short."
Within the blink of an eye, Vishal raised the revolver and shot Hari squarely between his eyes. As his lifeless body slumped to the floor, Vishal went on,pausing liberally and injecting a bit of regret in his otherwise deadpan, matter-of-fact tone, " This was supposed to be my fucking moment of glory....Had it all pictured. Me.... riddled to death with bullets by five or six cops. Bye-bye insomnia. But you and your pathetic helping hand.... ruined my fucking night."
"Why..why are you doing this??" The officer was on the verge of tears now.
"Oh..I want to go out..But with a bang!"
"You're fucking crazy!!" The officer's eyes almost popped out in panic.
"Sure took you a long time to figure that one," Vishal fired again and watched the officer's throat blow up spewing blood like a geyser. "Guess they don't make cops like they used to," Vishal rued as he rubbed his finger-prints off the revolver handle and flung it aside.
Two years ago, Vishal had been a cop too. He had slogged his way through IPS to be in the force. Just as Radhika had been.
--- Two years ago
"Five broken bones. Jaw displaced. Ribs fractured. Gosh, Vishal! The commish is gonna have your head for this!" Radhika exclaimed at her colleague.
"The commissioner should be happy," Vishal replied indifferently. "I finally got all the information we need to shut their cartel down."
"This is the third time you almost killed someone in your interrogations, Vishal," Radhika protested. "Despite the warnings. That's not how we are supposed to.."
"I don't want to go over this again, Radhika," Vishal said dismissively. "You're just not .." and he left the sentence trailing.
"Just not what?" Radhika demanded.
"Forget it."
"No,I want to hear it."
"Willing to do what is necessary," Vishal's face hardened.
"Gratuitous violence is necessary?" She stared at him.
"Without a doubt."
"Truth is you just want to beat someone up badly. You just need an excuse, don't you?"
"Excuse me?"
"Don't pretend as if you don't know it."
"You're starting to sound like my parents, " Vishal shrugged. "Nothing I ever did was enough for them. Not even IPS."
"Vishal, I told you...you need help," Radhika's tone assumed a softer timbre.
"We've been over this," Vishal's indignation rose. "I don't need a shrink!"
"Please, Vishal, Animesh was telling me yesterday he knows a good counselor. Maybe you can.."
"Animesh?" Vishal furrowed his eyebrows. "You've been meeting that school buddy of yours a lot lately."
"I already told you," Radhika tried to defend herself. "He's new to this town. He doesn't have any friends here."
"It's been six months since he has been here, Radhika," Vishal protested. "He even knows a good counselor by now. And he still hasn't managed to get any friends besides my wife?"
"You're being impossible," Radhika made no attempt to hide her irritation. "I think you should be more worried about your job right now. You've a lot of heat headed your way for the way you manhandled the witness this time."
Radhika was right. Vishal was soon charged with misconduct during duty and asked to file his resignation. At home, with nothing to do, Vishal got sucked into a quagmire of whiskey-fueled rage. Radhika tried to put up with a brave face for some time, but after a year, she decided she had had enough. She was already pregnant when she filed for divorce. Vishal begged her to stay, promised to change, but all his entreaties fell on deaf ears.
They day she left their home, Animesh was there to carry her and her belongings away in his car.
--- Present time
"Oh,no Dr. Trisha," Vishal said warmly into the phone as he neared his house. "I don't think I'll need that appointment next week. I'm feeling absolutely fantastic these days."
"But Vishal," a concerned voice came from the other end. "You need help. Please trust me. Let me help you."
"On the contrary," Vishal replied as he opened the gate to his house, " I've never felt this great in a long long time. You always urged me to be myself, remember? Guess what? I finally found who I am."
"Vishal, listen.." the psychologist tried to say.
"Dr. Trisha, I think I'll have to go off now," he said, noticing someone standing in front of the door to his 2-BK house, and disconnected the call. "My escape plan is here."
"It's about time," Vishal grinned. "I was beginning to think you won't show up."
"You're too eager to die at my hands, aren't you?" Radhika barked back, her face twisted in disgust.
"Oh c'mon, I shot you at point blank range taking extreme care to avoid your spine and major organs," he answered with an air of pride. "I think the academy's shooting gold medalist deserves a round of applause."
"So what do you want to report?" The paunchy police officer looked lazily at Vishal as he sat across from him in the police station. "Murder.Three. Oh no. Make that four." Vishal replied ,pinching the bridge of his nose, as if suddenly remembering.
"You're gonna regret not killing me when you had the chance," she said coldly.
"Frankly, been waiting for this for the last two weeks," he quoted with his trademark indifference. "I knew you wouldn't call the cops on me. You'd want to finish the job all by yourself."
"Trust me, Vishal, I would have come earlier if I could," she breathed vengeance. "Those two weeks in the hospital..you're all I thought about."
"How romantic," Vishal said impassively."And FYI..I was getting bored waiting..Been up to some more killing..just to kill the time. I must say I am beginning to enjoy.."
Without giving him a chance to finish, Radhika brought out a pistol, took aim and fired at a startled Vishal. Before he had had any time to react, the bullet had grazed past his shoulder.
"It...tickles," Vishal bit his tongue, trying to tune out the physical anguish and burn in his shoulder blade.
"My wounded stomach..for..your shoulder," she flung aside her gun as she said so. "I guess that about evens the odds. Let's finish this." She brought up her fists in front of her face in a boxer's stance. "Man to man!"
"A bleeding man versus a woman who's been nursed back to health?" Vishal ignored his aching shoulder and lunged for his former wife. "Still no contest!"
Radhika clutched her stomach to brace it from the shock and raised her leg swiftly to meet Vishal's hurtling body squarely in his nose.
Vishal fell onto the concrete pavement, red fluids oozing out of his broken nose.
"Bleeding so soon,Vishal?" Radhika mocked. "But the night is so young...and I have so much planned."
She kicked with all her might against Vishal's flank and immediately after, she bent her knee and used her weight to ground her knee-cap into the base of Vishal's left palm.
Vishal could feel more than one of his ribs breaking from the impact of her assault. His left wrist was crushed and his ribs were moving with a life of their own.
"You're beginning to get the idea, aren't you?" Radhika snarled as she punched him in the ribs again. "This is the end... for both of us."
"You...two-timing whore!!!" Vishal growled, wincing in pain as he swung his fist, but still missing Radhika by inches.
Radhika delivered a hard upper-cut to his chin and simultaneously kicked in his shin. Vishal grunted in pure agony.
"That was your own baby, Vishal! You killed your own baby," she cried out, tears pushing out of her eyes.
"You'll say that now, won't you?" Vishal looked up to meet her eyes.
"It's the goddamn truth, you fucking bastard!!" She screamed so hard the veins on her neck stood out.
"If you're expecting me to get burnt up by an overpowering remorse ,then forget it," Vishal managed to wink. "My baby or not..the look on your face...as I pulled the trigger on him...Pure pleasure!"
"You're nothing but a monster, Vishal," Radhika spat on him. "And I used to think..underneath all that...you were a good person somewhere."
"I'm just a desperate man doing desperate things," Vishal breathed heavily. "Well, I did try to turn myself in. But those dickheads at that under-staffed police station simply weren't up to the task."
"Remember what you used to say, Vishal?" His former wife smashed her fist against his cheek. "That the world only makes sense when you force it to? Guess what..I finally see your logic!"
"Stop!" Vishal cried out. He could feel some of his teeth shattering.
"You want me to stop now, Vishal?" Radhika smiled, mockingly yet ruefully. "After you've so successfully brought me down to your level?"
"Oh, hardly ..my sweet," he gasped out. "I wasn't talking about the pummeling. It's your incessant jabber that's driving me crazy." Saying this, he swiftly withdrew a pen-knife from his pant pocket and lunged it in her stomach. The blade was so sharp, she hardly felt it enter her. But there was the searing pain soon after to remind her.
She grit her teeth and reached for Vishal's neck with both her hands. Vishal was going on talking. But she couldn't hear him. She couldn't hear anything. His neck would have to do.
She slowly started twisting it. He was moving more quickly than she was. Stabbing her. She went on applying pressure with a single-minded determination.
kraaaaaak The bones in his neck started snapping. She could hear that. And she could hear something else. Voices. Calling her a killer.
She wished she was. She let go of Vishal.
"I'm really...very disappointed in you..my sweet..," Vishal struggled to speak."The moment was..perfect..and you didn't have the nerve..Paralysis..really?"
Radhika was in a world of pain of her own to reply and he went on,"Just a little bit more of pressure..but you've always let me down..darling..your nerve gave out...See you... in hell!"
And with a devil's strength, he twisted... kraaaaaak..
And twisted... kraaaaaak. What was left of his spine ...went. All the while, Vishal laughed. An eerie laughter which filled the night. Long after whatever was in him rustled and left.
For Radhika, the world was going dark..and cold. She passed out too, wondering whether she would live to see the next morning's sun.
Not that she wanted to. She would rather see her baby.
