An Old Umbrella

He walked straight into the ‘Barista’ and stood for a minute to feel the comfort of AC. It was burning outside that café. The sun rays were plunging on to the surface of the earth with its full intensity. The moisture from air was long gone and the wind was carrying only dust and pollution. While the heat was bashing on the glass doors of café, it was soothing and cool inside it.

He was 60+ and his skin had countless wrinkles. He was wearing a white shirt which no longer resembled its true shine. It had become pale brownish, thanks to the expensive vehicles running wildly on the roads. His pants were parallel and black in color. His shoes were perhaps the style symbol of 80s but for now it was nothing but stale. Its color was unidentified and skin was scratched to anonymity by the time. He was carrying an umbrella covered with a plastic wrapper. It was big and the standard one which had been already banned by the young community.  

He stood with closed eyes for almost a minute and then sat down. The attendants and waiters of the café saw him fiercely; as if understood that he was there only to take some cold air. They could not tolerate that one of their exquisite tables was occupied by an incumbent un-buyer. What if most of the tables were unoccupied and there were not even a handful of customers, this old man was definitely harming their reputation by his obnoxious outfit and unwelcome personality. The manager signaled one of his subordinates to address the unlikely emergency.

‘What would you like to have sir?’

The attendant threw a question with a big but fake smile on his face (as if purchased from some peddler in a lost bargain).

The old man got nervous and looked at the smiling face of the attendant. His expressionless face indicated that he had no idea what to say or order. The smile on the face of attendant grew bigger, almost crossing the limitations of his cheek.

“If you want to sit here, you need to order something…if you are not sure I can give you our menu-card…you can choose something from it.”

The suggestion was reasonable. Old man shook his head in agreement. The attendant didn’t waste a single second in giving him a menu card.

’59.00, 69.00, 89.00…399.00’, the old man browsed through the entire menu with an astonishment on his face. He could feel Goosebumps on his body owing to the prices. He at once stood up and headed towards the gate. He thought if he would stay there the attendant would definitely make him purchase something. He had only 100 rupee note in the pocket which was his fare for the bus. With his umbrella held tightly in one hand, he quickly touched his upper pocket by the other hand to make sure that the note was still there. Everyone’s sarcastic laugh escorted him to the door and pushed him out.

He felt scared of looking back. He quickly moved towards a building with big strides. The wind crashed with his face and burnt even the tiniest amount of moisture hiding in the pores of his skin, leaving the face partially scorched.     

After walking almost a kilometer, he entered a big air-conditioned building. It was swarming with people. Everyone looked at him in disgust. The crowd was well dressed and their ‘so called’ mannerism was pasted on their faces as a pass to enter that building. The old man looked more like a perfect blot in their perfumed ambiance. He looked here and there in fear and confusion.

“What do you want old man?”

The guard rushed towards the old man and asked rudely, as if he was a threat to his employment.

“I am here to see my son. It is his birthday.”

“What is the name of your son?” The guard stared him viciously.

“Rudra Kumar Sharma”

The old man handed over a visiting card to the guard.

“You are his father?”

“Yes”

The guard looked astonished. He signaled the old man to sit on the sofa placed near the reception area. He went to the other guard who had the authority to dial numbers. He told him about the old man. The other guard too looked in deep cynicism. He twitched his shoulders and dialed a number.

Rudra Kumar Sharma or RD was marketing manager of the company. He was agile and dynamic. MBA in marketing and six-sigma certified. He was one of the most admired employees working there. 

Old man sat on the sofa and started looking everywhere. The centralized AC was giving him a good feeling. He kept the umbrella beside him and wiped his face with the handkerchief; perhaps wanted to look dust free and confident when his son approaches.

“Sir, he is in meeting.” The guard broke his sanity process.

“How much time would it take?”

“Nobody knows sir…could be hours? Why don’t you come tomorrow?”

“I want to meet him today…it’s his birthday…I will wait.”

The guard opened his mouth to say something but decided against it. He turned towards his designated place and tried to keep off his eyes from that old man.

The old man pasted his eye sight on a painting. It had bright colors, lively and blissful. He could not understand that what exactly was painted but he could see shards and boxes of different dimensions. Its outline was distinct and vibrant. May be it was a 3d painting.

A man walked anxiously outside his house. He was sweating and his heartbeat was out of control. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. His breath was fast and deep. He was holding a cloth piece in his hand which was being used to wipe out the constantly flowing sweat.  His body was slumping forward and steps were toddling. He clutched the washbasin made in the gallery for support; he could not endure the pain of waiting anymore. Practically, it was his wife who was going through the labor of delivering the baby but the trail of pain was evidently visible on his face.

“Sir…”

The guard saved the old man from reliving those painful moments. The old man almost got shaken by guard’s sudden voice.

“Sir, you have been waiting for hours now. May be sir is very busy in meeting. Please come tomorrow.”

“I have waited 4 hours at his birth time…there was no one to help at that time. It is the same day today. Have you informed him that his father is here?” Old man smiled.

“Yes…in fact, I have informed the receptionist there. I am sure she would have delivered the message.”

“Can’t you dial on his mobile directly?”

“No sir…I could not…I just tried but it is coming not reachable.”

“Then I guess I have no option but to wait.”

The guard had nothing to say. He scratched his head and after rearranging his cap, he went to his position again.   

“It is an opportunity of overtime and you are saying no to it. Are you in your senses?” Ramesh, a 29 years old manager was almost staggered.

 “Yes sir.”

 “You know that the compensation we offer for overtime is double…right?”

“Yes”

“And you want to go home just because it is your son’s birthday and you don’t want to be late today?”

“Yes”

Manager shook his head in distrust and waved his hand towards the door. He looked at the manager with an expressionless face and moved out of the door. He knew that he was saying ‘No’ to the manager which could prove very costly in later stages. His manager was crooked and a wicked man. He either would put pressure on him at work or can even fire him as well. But he had not missed a single birthday of his son in years and he wanted to continue this trend.

The old man had been waiting for almost the whole day. It was evening now. He was changing his position frequently now, which indicated his anxiety and uneasiness. Now the centralized Ac was no longer soothing, it was chilling. The cold air he inhaled had started to freeze his emotions and fatherly love. His blood pumped up and down. He tried to concentrate on different things but his patience had betrayed him already. People’s eyes were blistering his heart and his brain was haunted by their whispers. He looked at the guard. He had a pitiful look.

The old man stood up and walked towards the gate with a heavy heart. He limped throughout the gallery. His confidence was crushed and trust was shattered on the marble floor of that multi-storey building. His love was lost in the buzzing sound of different voices. He kept on limping until he reached outside. Slowly like a melting ice cube, he disappeared in fainting light of the sun.

The guard suddenly found that old man was gone. He walked near the sofa, the umbrella was still there. He picked it up. It was carefully wrapped in plastic and there was a small note inside it.

“Did he leave it?” The second guard asked.

“Yes”

“Poor he”

“His son must be one of the biggest scoundrels to disrespect such a loving father.”

“Don’t say that”

“Why?”

“You don’t know but there is a sad story.”

“What?”

“His son had died couple of years ago in an accident…right in front of this gate.”

“Oh”

“He came here last year as well…poor father…”

The guard said nothing but opened the note with tears in his eyes.

‘Happy Birthday…Son…I am gifting you my favorite umbrella which have you always liked.

-          From your loving father’

The heat outside reduced and there was no wind anymore. Everything looked still and calm. People were still swarming but somehow there was a silence…a post death silence.

  

 

       

             

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A Few Words…

He sat still on his sepia chair staring the blank face of MS word on his ‘Acer laptop’. His eyes kept on pondering through the layers of his upcoming story and meeting unborn characters. After almost half an hour of gazing and thinking he pushed his chair with his back, making some space for his long legs which were literally stuck between the chair and the table. 

    

He picked up a pen from the table, a Reynolds’s bold pen with a very familiar white body and a blue cap. It was hard to understand why he was so fond of pen, even though, he had nothing to do with pen now. It was all on the laptop.  He gradually, almost in slow motion, took the pen to his mouth. The upper part of the cap was chewed, suggesting that it was not the first time when the cap had become the victim of his writer’s block. He started chewing the hapless cap again, perhaps wishing he could extract some potion of creativity from the cap. With a determination and focus, he kept on chewing the cap for almost 15 minutes…the page was still blank.

All of a sudden he threw the pen on the table and sighed. Indicating, the story inside him was yet not uniform and hence could not take shape of words…at least for now. He could feel the strong currents of the story inside him as if it was a high-tide in the ocean of an unknown fable.    

He rubbed his eyes with both of his hand and fixed it on a painting clinging to the front wall. It was hanged a bit low on the wall than usual. It was a painting of a ‘cheetah’ hunting a ‘chinkara’. Studded with vibrant colors and realistic expressions, it was no less than a masterpiece. He probably remembered the place where he purchased this from. It was swarming with pedestrians and slowly crawling vehicles. He scratched his head in frustration of not remembering the name of that place. It was ‘Sheena’ or ‘Fancy’ market or probably something else…situated in the heart of Kolkata.  It was a very hot day when he saw this painting searching a place amongst many other paintings in a shop. It was a co-incident that he saw it and purchased it, was a hard bargain though. He smiled. On the course of enjoying the colors of the painting, he remembered something. He shook his head and wondered whether it was true that one should not keep a painting symbolizing violence in the house, it brings negativity. He kept on observing the violent yet beautiful painting for almost 40 minutes.

His eyes roamed back to the white and wordless page of MS word. He wobbled his head in disgust. He required tranquility to keep his ideas flowing like a stream.

He stood and flipped the painting so that he could no longer be distracted due to that. He moved to the kitchen and put some coffee, sugar and hot milk in a designer cup. After a gradual shake, he returned to the sepia chair.

He closed his inquisitive eyes and took a sip of the coffee. It tasted like a bitter cough syrup prescribed by his family doctor…he hated him. But it was still ok to bring turbulence among the thoughts. He looked at the rather complex menu of MS word. It was office edition 2010. He rolled his lower lips outwards; indicating his inability to understand the menu and its relevance…word 2003 was much easier for sure. And who could forget the office assistant in the earlier versions of MS office.

‘It used to be fun.’ He thought and smiled. He took a few sips of the coffee. Now he was feeling better. He moved back in his chair, adjusted himself comfortably against the ochre cushion and looks up at the wall again. The painting was flipped now. The brown color back of the painting was emitting a rather pale feeling which was good repellant. He clinched his head and focused again on the blank sheet of MS word. It was a murder mystery he wanted to write, a story of a serial killer. He had done all the research. He had the plot and the characters. All he required to do was the arrangement. It had been hours now that he was trying to write a word and somehow he had started to feel that it wasn’t the day.

‘The red, thick blood dripped from her veins and spread on the white floor, giving it a red essence.’  

He stopped for a while and read the line again. It was good, he thought. He stretched his fingers and adjusted himself on the chair. A smile of satisfaction was still on his lips; alas the story had started. He started thinking about the story again, but this time more he thought about the story, more sounds of appreciation he heard in his conscious. A murder mystery of its own kind written by him; he imagined himself sitting in a book signing event. How jealous his friends would be?

Suddenly he remembered something. He quickly minimized the page of the word file and opened the browser. He entered the ‘URL’ of Facebook, he was already logged in. He surfed through the different pages and pictures. He couldn’t remember when he had a long conversation with any of his friends. A quick call or mostly ‘Whatsapp’ was all his social interaction with them these days.

‘Wrote something intriguing today, going strong…hell ya’

He tweeted. He had 500+ followers on twitter but he didn’t know most of them. These followers never tweeted or re-tweeted anything. They were just numbers…but who cares…number is all what people see. He remembered how he was criticized when he shared a line from his story. His friends said that there was too much gore and blood in that.

He restored the word page again. All he could read was ‘blood’ in bold. He closed his eyes and allowed a big sigh out of his mouth. He shook his head and deleted the first line of his story which he thought could win a ‘booker’s award’ for him someday. The page was blank again.

He bumped his fist on the table in frustration. The laptop jumped and settled down again on the same place. Could his thoughts reach out to him across layers of skepticism, shards of cynicism and fog of unreal friends?

He stood and walked towards the storeroom. A foul smell filled his nostrils. He opened the door and entered the room. The whole room was chilled like a cold storage. He stepped forward and switched on the lights. The whole room was divided in little compartments. He moved ahead slowly and observed every compartment keenly. His palate was in writing, some real writing. He stretched his hand and started stroking something. It was a dead body of a girl. A thin line of blood was still visible on her white face. He kissed the body on its forehead. Once, she was his girlfriend…now she was his research.

Every compartment of that room was occupied by a dead body. He slowly walked by every dead body with a grin on his face. Every one of them had a familiar face. They were his friends, the friends who never appreciated his writing. They thought his research was an utter insanity. His dedication towards his writing was nothing but a faux. They made fun of his writing and laughed their heart out on his dreams. He heard everyone until his birthday. They had decided to ruin his birthday party by asking him to quit writing and do something more fruitful. And his girlfriend, who once claimed to be his number one fan, also supported the nuisance of his friend. Nobody cherished his dreams and nobody noticed the tears falling seamlessly from his eyes that day. He poisoned them all. It had been 3 days and nobody knew that where are they? He had made that store a sanctuary of ACs to save the bodies from decaying. Now, all of these bodies were serving as an inspiration for his new murder story.

He went back to the laptop and started typing flawlessly.   

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I didn’t believe in ghost until that day

‘Seeing a cat isn’t a problem, the problem is when it disappears.’

A chilling night of December was enough to make me feel awkward but on top of that my ongoing exams were adding the pressure on me. I was not sure how long it would have taken to complete the final sample paper. It was already 1:15 am in a night of December winter. I was preparing for my examinations in my room which was on the 3^rd floor of the house. It was chilling outside the house, enough to slow down the beating of a heart. I was trying hard to keep myself warm and to remain awake inside the blanket. But after some time I succumbed against the dozing eyes and killing cold, I closed my book and looked at the clock; it was 1:25 am. I stood up to have some water. Suddenly I thought that I heard a voice, like someone whispering. I heeded it. It was the sound of singing on the terrace above. It was not carrying any tune, but piping shrill and melodious. Such a sound in cold was enough to send shivers in the spine of a common man; but it was more than the fear of a physical invader that held me frozen. I could not define the horror that gripped me. 

There was a time when I was frequently haunted by nightmares that made me remain awake in the middle of the night with a cold sweat and tossing and turning here and there, screaming. It went on for months and yet I didn't tell anybody, not a single soul. Suddenly it all stopped.

Fear does not have any clinical definition. It is an emotion, trauma, entertainment or myth. It is perhaps an intense, painful feeling of repugnance. The senses paralyses and heart beat comes a halt for certain time. It is hard to explain.

The strange paralysis that had held me was broken after a few moments. I took a step toward the door, and then checked myself. I came out of the appalling door and moved towards the stairs. I was not running. The tread was deliberate and measured than ever. It was dark near the stairs.

I heard the stairs began to creak. A groping hand, moving along the balustrade, came into the bar of moonlight; then another, and a ghastly thrill went through my body, as I saw that the other hand gripped a hatchet -- a hatchet which dripped blackly. Was that thief who was coming down that stair?

My heart started pounding as never before. Terror held me like a vice-like grip. The torture of my indecision and fear threatened to crush me. I saw two eyes blinking and coming towards me. All of a sudden I felt the rush of blood inside the veins of my body. I was trying to shout...but it was a distant dream as I could not even breathe properly at that moment.

I had seen it in many movies by then. An unknown mask-man with a machete or hatchet comes slowly and if you are lucky enough you won’t see him. If otherwise, before you could scream, his hatchet with flung in air and your intestines will be spread over the floor, pouring red and thick blood all over.

It moved towards me with no sound but tweak of the stairs. It was all spooky and sense of encountering something evil was dominating my thoughts. As the distance reduced between me and the glittering eyes, I closed my eyes…as tight as I could. I knew that anytime that hatchet with segregate my head from rest of my body.

Nothing happened.

I opened eyes and saw no one near me or the stair. I quickly saw behind me to make sure that no hatchet is swinging towards me. Anyways a person is killed in a movie when he is least alert and feeling secure. There was nothing. I could only see two fireflies in some distance and assumed that the glittering eyes were nothing but these fireflies.

I again moved towards the terrace. I could see a hatchet hanging on the wall. I reached the terrace. It was cold like ice out there. I shivered at the phrase, staring uneasily at the terrace walls that shut them in. The scent of the pines was mingled with the odors of unfamiliar plants and blossoms. But underlying all was a reek of rot and decay. Again a sick abhorrence of these dark mysterious woodlands almost overpowered me. The voices of dog-cry and cats were not helping at all. It seemed that a cry was crying just near our house.

I was again drowned in the feeling of fear and disgust. It was not only chilling but a sense of fear also captured me deep in my heart. I was somehow so frightened that the blood drained from my face, turning it to ghastly waxen color; my fists were clenched, white knuckled, against my flat bosom. I felt goose bombs all over my body.  It was like I have forgotten to be happy and a deep sorrow penetrated my heart.

I heard voice of someone crying on the terrace now. It was like a child’s cry. I put pressure on my eyes. It decreased in size and the visibility increased a bit. It was a small shadow, more like a cat. It was not moving, still, grounded but emitting a sound…a hellish sound which could extract blood out of your veins and make it filled with only sorrow and death. The speed of my mind was retarded to nothing. I could not think anything but horrors. I crouched and moved one more step ahead, the cat was eating something.

When I was a kid, my granny used to tell the stories of a devil cat. People say it was a woman, cursed by the witch-craft and black magic. She became a cat and fed upon the dead bodies and little children. It used to kill sleeping people as well. When people used to sleep unconsciously, unaware of what horror was approaching them; this cat would appear from nowhere and would start licking the toe of sleeping man or woman. People believed it was a kind of black spell which used to make that person go into deep sleep. And after confirming the deep sleep, this cat would kill the person and behead it to eat. There was a time when the whole village gathered to search and kill that cat but nobody could find it. It is said that this cat travels from place to place, killing people and feeding upon their heads.

As soon as I remembered the story my heart froze into nothing but a mass of cold ice. I could not feel heartbeat. The saliva gathered into my throat but could not swallow it. Afraid of the fact, that swallowing could make some sound which would attract the attention of the cat which could be the same devilish cat. I don’t know why I stepped ahead. My foot landed on something slippery. Was it blood?

I had no idea why I even tried to go and see on the terrace, how I could forget the horrors of the terrace especially after 12 am midnight. I was terrified by the fact that I was standing on blood of someone and the cat probably was eating someone’s head. I had no torch and even my mobile had dim light. But I took out the mobile, The different pages of virtual worlds like Facebook, Google+, Twitter and instagram were still loading on it. I tried to see the color of the fluid on the terrace with the mobile light. It was red. Suddenly my heart beat went louder, I could hear the pounding in my ears and few drops of sweat appeared on my forehead. Somehow I was recalling all the horror stories have ever heard.

I was 16 when I visited one of my friend’s house. It was in Himachal Pradesh. It was a fruitful stay until I noticed that not everything was right there. I saw a little girl in the bathroom. I thought she is the member of the family but I never saw her with rest of the family. After a day I requested my friend to stop that girl from going to my bathroom but he told me that there was no girl in family. I was shit scared and after that day here was constantly something happening. Doors flying open and shut, voices, footsteps. Nothing ever stayed where you put it. I was not alone there but either it was only me who was seeing things or my friend was lying to me and they knew what was it?

‘Stuff that's hidden, murky and ambiguous is scary because you don't know what it does’.

It was only a horrific day when I came to know that my friend had a niece, who died in that bathroom, drowned in the bathtub. Her spirit remained there and started to haunt everyone. Even after returning Delhi from there, I could not go to the bathroom at night. I always felt as if someone was there…may be that girl.

It was a gut-level disturbing reality now that there was a huge possibility that this cat was a Satan. I pulled my step back, slowly, without making any noise. I could feel as if somebody was squeezing my heart apart. I slowly moved to the stair and as soon as I kept my first step onto the stair, the cat started crying again. It was an ominous sound.

The sound continued to plunge inside my ears but brain I wasn't scared, and I didn't feel anger or any strong emotion. In fact, it was like emotion was trickling out of me somehow, and I was getting more blank, more empty. My mind started feeling a little hazy and more and more I felt like I simply didn't care about anything. A small and rapidly dwindling part of myself started to panic, knew that something bad was happening, but it was like my own inner voice was slowly getting quieter and quieter. My feet became heavy and breathe deeper. I had to literally drag my legs to my room.

I didn’t know why I was so afraid, so scared and panicked. It was just a cat. But I had the fear of cats since I was a kid and there is a reason behind it. I was seven when I killed a cat by throwing it from 2^nd floor. The cat fall straight down and collided with a rock. Its head broke and it died almost instantly. I received a lot of heat from my father on this topic. But to my amazement, I saw that very cat alive the next day, following its daily routine. Everybody believed that this cat was different but I knew it was not. It was the same cat. I could see it in its eyes. It’s hazy and brownish eyes which were like fire of hell… was giving out the imprints of an immortal devil; that couldn’t be killed or buried in mere soil. It kept on returning to haunt us and to spread hatred, unlikeness and dismay.   

I and my friends also tried to dig the place where cat was buried. But we could find no body, not even the maggots.

I dragged myself into my room and closed the door. I felt relieved that I was back in the room and was not killed by spirits or ghosts. I locked my door properly and turned around. Suddenly the lights fluctuated and I saw something which I cannot explain.

A 6 feet tall woman was standing there in black. She had no legs; she was hovering on the air. Her black hair had covered her half body. The hair was floating in the air as if it was in water. She was smiling and her smile was bigger than what her face could afford, as if her cheeks were cut with a sharp blade. Her brownish and sharp teeth were visible with red pieces of meat stuck in it. She had whiskers like cats do. Her flesh was rotten. Her whole body was covered in a kind of black fur.

“Aaaaaa”

It was a killed scream which got buried in my throat. My heart could not beat, and I was not able to breath. The whole body was twisted as if a rift had begun inside my body pulling everything in a black hole. I could not stop thinking about her white eyes; it had no pupil in it.

“I also have a tail.” She said.

She scratched my neck with her long nails and a stream of blood oozed out of my neck. I cried out with dismay and pain. I could only hear the crying of the cat. I ghastly tried to save myself but my neck could not tolerate the second attack and my head broke. It rolled down on the floor and that woman turned into a cat; black cat with white eyes. I died.

I know you are feeling sad for me. It is a bit chilling here. Your heart is filling with fear and misery. You are recalling that cat and that girl in the bathroom. May be you are feeling like someone is watching you. Now you are thinking that how can I tell this. You can turn back and see me because I am right behind you.

 

 

        

   

  

 

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Jhoolawala

It wasn’t a usual day for Shyam; it was a long day, long and tiring. He had a little argument with his manager over the reports which he had been sending since last 7 years. His manager thought that reports were not accurate and on the other hand he could bet his life upon the authenticity of the reports. The argument ended in no man’s land without any result or outcome but the heat inside Shyam’s brain was still so much that one could roast a ‘turkey’ on his head. He knew that the manager understood that the reports were correct but how his manager could have stepped down in a heated argument with a subordinate. So, in order to satisfy the ego, his manager advised him to recheck all of the reports again, as a precaution. Hence, after checking all of the reports Shyam headed towards his house late in night, as late as 12:30 am.

“I just don’t believe this Radha, that knucklehead compelled me to stay late in office today. I am in this service for almost 10 years and this dick-head had not even completed 2 years…MBA…bullshit.”

“Calm down. Reach home and I will do ‘chumpy’ of your head. It will help you feel better.” A rather soothing voice of her wife poured in his ears.

“I want the same…but I am not getting any conveyance…not even a single rickshaw, no auto…nothing. I am on foot, so it will be a bit late.”

“Ok…don’t worry…just keep your calm.”

Shyam was a 32 years old man. His resume had only one firm and one service and that was to make accounts for other people, who were no big entrepreneurs but common shopkeepers and wholesale dealers. He had been doing well so far. His customers were happy and it had also helped his firm to get some loyal customers. His family was small which had his wife Radha and two kids. His income was enough to earn them bread and butter. He was able to send the kids to a rather good school and was also capable to give her wife occasional small gifts which were enough to make her go blabber about it to everyone she could meet in her small neighborhood. The life neither was entirely rewarding for him nor a complete bane. It was just going ok.

He walked as fast as he could towards his house which was 2 kms away from his office building. Suddenly he saw something moving in the dim visibility of the street light. It was black and small, more like an animal. May be it was a cat. But this cat went straight across the road which wasn’t a good omen. Shyam stood watching the cat and thinking for a while. The eyes of the cat were glittering in the dark.  And her voice was spooky. She sat on the corner of the road licking her body with passion. The thought popped into Shyam’s mind that maybe that was a signal, right there. Perhaps all those horror stories were right. Cats were the minions of the demon world and maybe this one was trying to indicate something horrible to him. The cat saw him and with her tail sticking straight up, she ran and vanished in the small bushes.

“Fuck” said Shyam to himself, “This bloody cat had crossed my road…oh…for god’s sake, I am not afraid.”

He shook his head and once again started moving quickly on his way to his home. He could not remember when it was the last time when he was awake this late. His head felt heavy. The street lights were hurting his eyes. He looked up, carefully shading his eyes with his palms, the light seemed far above him, almost like light from a shooting star. It didn’t leave him with a good feeling.          

He again saw a black shadow in a distance. But this time it was big…gigantic…almost thrice of his own size. He felt his heart throbbing and pounding with his chest. It was moving very slowly. Was it a monster or some troll? He fumbled in his pockets, struggling to recollect and clear the distorted picture he could see from his eyes. One thing was clear, it was big.

He assembled all his courage and moved ahead to see what exactly was it. His heart was beating hard and was trying to pump the blood as fast as it could. His legs seem heavy as if he had worn iron shoes. After a few steps the picture got a bit more cleared. Well fortunately, it was not a monster, troll or a ghost. It was a poor and old ‘Jhoolawala’ with his big wooden wheel. He was struggling to push the wheel but the movement was very less compared to his efforts. Shyam rushed towards him.

“Should I help you?”

“No, son…it is ok. I am quite capable of it.”

“Doesn’t seem so, why you are doing it anyway…it is too big for you. And it’s already too late in night.”

“It is my bread and butter. I am coming from a distant colony park, usually I am home much early but today business was good. So I stayed there for a bit late.”

Shyam realized that the old man was also going his way. So he decided to walk along with him and give a bit help. He looked at the ‘jhoola’, it was an old wooden ‘Jhoola’ shaped as a wheel. With all the color papers and plastic birds hanging all around it. He was already feeling nostalgic about it.

“How much you earned today?” Shyam asked him with a grin on his face.

“Nothing”

“Well, just now you said that you had a good day in business, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I had a good day for business but I have got nothing left. So, if you have any idea of plundering, I am afraid that you will get nothing.”

“Do, I look like a thief? Anyways, how come you earned good but have nothing…did you drank or gamble with them.”

“It was unfortunate. But as you have asked me so listen, I was thrashed and looted by a car owner.”

“Why would a car owner pillage an old man like you?” For Shyam the conversation was becoming more interesting.

The old man looked at Shyam. His one eye was almost closed and a bloody patch was clearly visible there. As if he was hit by something there. He had tears in his eyes.

“After a long period of time I had a good day in business today. I thought of giving my wife a sari with that money…she had been wearing same old sari for almost 4 years now. But poor men like us don’t have the liberty to do anything of that sort. I accidently rubbed a car on the way coming back to house. Its paint came off. The fault was mine…I was so excited that I didn’t notice it until I was hauled back by the car owner. He abused me and when I tried to offer some money he thrashed me like an animal and took everything I had.”

Shyam walked quietly with the old man. He was looking down on the road, perhaps trying to find the answers of the questions the old man never asked.

“I don’t have kids.” The old man continued. “But still I chose to make little children happy. I could have opened a tea-stall but…Children make me happy, their chanting and voices make me forget my poverty and my age. I know that someday I will die and there will be nobody to look after my dead body. There will be no funeral. My body would be eaten by wild animals and maggots. All I wanted was some respect.”

Shyam was somehow not able to raise his head. He stopped, the world seemed unfair. He felt an instant compulsion to take out his wallet and give all the money to the old man, but he didn’t. It was the fare of his bus for tomorrow and perhaps cost of a packet of cigarette without which he could not work at all.

‘Human is one of the most selfish being ever lived on the planet earth. He thinks his small needs are bigger than everything else of another person. Value of his single drag of a weed can be more than someone’s empty stomach. Nevertheless, selfishness is a fantastic way to be miserable’.

Shyam took out his wallet and looked up. But the old man was not there. He was long gone. Shyam felt pity and wretched. He walked with a heavy heart towards his home.

Next day, Shyam decided to walk to his office and save the bus fare. He thought that he would give the money to the old man if he accidently meets him somewhere. He could not stop thinking about the poor old man and his tough life. He had dealt with accounts of some people who invest in loss knowingly. As they just want to show some loss in order to hide their otherwise unpredictable income. He saw car owners and felt angry upon each of them. He wished he could know more about the car owner that old man described and beat him to his death.

Suddenly he saw the ‘Jhoola’ resting near a shop. He quickly went there; it was the similar ‘Jhoola’ with color papers. He stood there and started looking for the old man.

“Hey…what do you want?” Somebody shouted from inside the shop.

“Where is the ‘jhoolawala’?

“You can’t meet him.”

“Why”

“Because he died two months ago…he was beaten to death by some car-owner. Poor man, his body was thrown away by Municipal Corporation. His wife also died couple of days after him. What a tragedy!”

Shyam stood still with shock and despair. All of a sudden he felt a shiver inside his spines. The old man he met last night was the ghost of the ‘Jhoolawala’.

   

  

          

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In love...with a brain eater

“I did what I could…what else could I have done…may be nothing.” Manish, a twenty six years old boy with blue eyes, was staring at the mirror. He was both furious and sad. His hair was untouched since countless weeks, his cloths were untidy and face was pale. The dark circles just below his blue eyes were indicating his irregular sleeping habits. Apart from it, his face was hidden under the uncontrolled growth of his beard. His otherwise robust body had become lean and starved.

“It is hard for you I know…”He contin

ued talking with the half broken mirror, “It is hard to forget her infectious smile and unexplainable warmth. It is hard to forget the depth of her incredibly beautiful eyes and it is hard to forget her divine voice which used to make you high without any weed whatsoever.”

He looked at the little digital watch tied on his wrist. His breath was becoming heavier and tears had started to gather in his eyes, ready to pop out any second from those rusty corners of the eyes. He looked at the watch again and wiped the saline water with the sleeves his shirt. Meanwhile various thoughts kept on tumbling one after another and his heart continued to pound hard in his ears.

For outer world it was a mundane day. He could hear the peddlers shouting about different things they were trying to sell and the sound of car engines getting started, as the office going people made their way to the parking.

“She was one crazy bitch, grown up in UP with high ambitions and rather twisted ways to accomplish the things. One of the most admired and brilliant student of all time. She was a scholar…but I don’t know why she went to South Africa and brought this fucking shit with her. This is the end of her agony.”

He turned towards the bathroom to take bath. While bathing he suddenly started singing a very old song from the film ‘Anand’.

“Zindagi kaisi hai paheli haye…..”

He sang passionately, but none of the wordings or the tune was correct, however finally, his voice caught some nodes and, he left the bathroom. He felt as though he was going to do something horrendous. But technically, he had just been singing a great song in a lame voice. That doesn’t seem much of a crime, does it?

He went again to the mirror and picked up the razor lying near the wash-basin. He checked the blade and started shaving off his beard. Soon his face reappeared from a long banishment under the dark, thick beard. He combed his hairs and headed towards the bedroom. He took out and threw a pair of fine shirts and neat pants from his closet on his bed. After thinking vividly about the color combinations and matches, he took a pair and started to get dress. Once he was ready, he went near the closet and quickly kept something inside his pants pocket.

He saw a glimpse of himself in the mirror and murmured, “I wish you could say for the final time that you knew I was in love with you; a memory you could recall and say that you liked sitting by the stairs of the apartment in stealth with me. You and me, with our hot cups of tea and our warm bodies in Deadly December…I just wish.”

He moved into the inner store room. The room was as dark as the black hole. The sun-rays were abandoned outside but restricted from there. The smell of blood and rotten flesh was possessed deep down the walls of that room. There was torn moss in this air, fallible wisps of death and gore. He stepped into the room quietly, throwing a quick smile at nobody and stood near the door. He switched on the light.

“Hi, honey,” he smiled, stretching on a cheery face as he approached her. His neck looked long and bare in the absence of his top shirt button. It made the scar that ran across his throat more prominent.

There was a girl tied in the chains and bars. The chains were mounted on the wall, giving the girl a very limited movement area. There were pieces of flesh and blots of blood all over the room. Little maggots had already made that room their paradise. Most of them were feeding on the pieces of flesh and a few daring ones were trying to feed upon the girl’s flesh, the girl, who was apparently alive.

“How are you today? The scattered meat pieces are suggesting me that you didn’t have your breakfast properly…why is that so? Are you trying to break my heart?”

There was no response from the girl. She was constantly busy in killing the moving maggots.

“Am I looking good today?” He continued, “Today your agony will end. I have decided to end your obsession…do you hear me Manisha?”

Suddenly the girl looked at Manish. Her face was sunken in, eyes unfocused and completely white. Her mouth twitched and drooled as if craving for something, anything, which even sounds like flesh, meat or blood. The smell of her rotting face was complementing the aroma of the room. Her nails were dark and bloody, but no blood was dripping from them.

“Your eyes are still deep…and your lips red like rose petals.” Manish glared at her with love in his eyes.

Love is complicated. Once a wise man said that it perhaps does not happens with the person but the image. But here the original image of the girl was long gone. She was nothing now but a pile of rotten flesh moving on the structure of bones but still Manish was in love with her.  

“I wish you would not have gone to SA for the research of the epidemic…I just wish. You brought that virus here with you. I have seen you transforming into a flesh eater cannibal from a sophisticated girl…but I told no one about this. As you lost control over you, I fed you everything I could.”

He unbuttoned the shirt and moved a bit near to the girl. His shoulders were badly injured, as if, flesh was cut from there. The blood stains were completely dried up and clotted.

“See, I even fed you my own flesh. But now I am too finding it hard to keep my mental balance going. The virus inside you is making me sick too. I am slowly feeling the thirst of blood and hunger of flesh. But I will not allow it to control me anymore.”

He stood just outside the reach of the girl. He took a pistol out of his pocket. It was black with a sticker of a heart pierced with an arrow pasted on the grip frame. He unlocked the safety grip and checked the magazine.

He did love himself because people who do not love themselves can only adore others, because adoration is making someone else big and us small. They can only desire others, because desire comes out of a sense of inner incompleteness, which demands to be filled. But they cannot love others, because love is an affirmation of the living and growing being in all of us. He loved this girl…unconditionally.

“I love you.”

He took a deep breath and looked at the roof of the house. His eyes started swimming in emptiness and his brain became incapable to think. He left his body to fall on his knees and drops of tears rolled one after another from his eyes. He raised his hand with the pistol and aimed at the girl. He opened his mouth to say something but words didn’t support him. A small amount of saliva slipped from his mouth to the neat shirt. With a silent scream he shot a bullet which pierced the head of the girl. The slash of blood oozed out of her head and within a second, another bullet was shot from the same pistol, the target was different, it was Manish himself. He killed himself.

The next morning a suicide note was found in the room addressing his parents.

‘I didn’t want it to happen…but it happened. It wasn’t that hard. I felt no pain as love had made me numb already.’

 

      

  

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