Blahsphemy

The last day of another year. Last year I had promised that I will fill up the blogosphere with a story every day. Some days I had succeeded but other days I failed. Like the saying goes the only stories that are missing  are the unwritten ones. As far as the new year is concerned, I hope to be more prolific with the keyboard. Let's see what 2016 has in store. Happy New Year folks. 

He used to let me light his cigars. He used to say he liked the way I flicked the lighter open. Tonight was also no different, as the warm glow spread at the tip of his cigar he muttered, make sure you light my pyre as well with the same ease. 

The tongues were eagerly waiting. They were deprived of their entertainment for years. Now that he had come back with a new bride, they were eager to wag at the nearest opportunity. And today, seemed like the day. For a muffled scream escaped the closed doors of his room. 

There is no use for that brain, let's disconnect it. “I heard that”, screamed the brain. “I used to make this darn body move and behave like others. Now just because it doesn't move, you can't fire me. I still can do wonders, you know? Wait, why are you bringing that drill close to my skull?”  

No I am not a cockroach, screamed the kid much to the chagrin of the nurses. They had found him under a bed in an abandoned building. He had a thick exoskeleton of dirt and pretty much ate everything that came his way. No one knew he could talk until the doctor playfully referred to him as little cockroach. The word just snapped him out of his verbal stupor and he made sure that no one called him a cockroach ever after.   

When was the last time you wrote to yourself? The question burned like a slow fuse in his mind. The blank sheets ruffled in the slow breeze from the ceiling fan. The day was just beginning to stir from a rainy night's slumber. His coffee was going cold fast, just like his heart. Today, he said aloud, I will write a note to myself. The wind chimes on his balcony door laughed. He walked past them and stepped out of his 13th floor apartment into thin air. While gravity was furiously dragging him he made a mental note. It said, hello stranger, here ends our journey.  

Imaginary conversations that stretch throughout the day. Teary farewells that linger on forever. Thunder rumbling in the distance.  Everything is just fine. When you are all alone.   

There were a few things missing from his day. He didn't know what. He was like a boat with no captain. Just floating along without any direction.

He sat up from his death bed and asked for a cigar. It would've been the most natural thing on earth had he not been pronounced dead. For the bystanders and the sorrowing family, it was a bit too much to take. They never saw this coming. His sons had amiably arrived at a decision as to who will have what. His widow had decided to go on a long pilgrimage he would've never given permission for. His friends had decided to visit their favorite bar on the way back after his funeral. But now everything changed, and he was the culprit.

An aircraft disappears with ease Whereas a painful memory remains forever.       

Silence is potent  It conveys  a lot When meeting A sad soul who lost  His companion and unborn child In one stroke  

The lift doors open  Welcoming silence into our midst.   For privacy hates company It's the unwritten rule of humanity.     

It has been a long time since you came this way, the paper whispered to the pen. I couldn't get myself to deface you, he replied. But it's my salvation, so please don't hesitate, the paper pleaded.  

 The ink of compassion has dried up. Now all that flows out is stale air. The same air zillions of people around the globe inhale and exhale religiously without any qualms. Why can't we market it, thought a marketer. The rest they say is history. But, what about compassion, you might ask. Well, it dried up long ago and that's about it.   

You are too fragile. The mirror whispered to the ego. The ego snarled at the mirror. Truth they say is a great leveller. Here, a stone did the trick.  

You have to switch off to turn on certain things. R2D2 couldn't quite decipher what his master meant. He had stumbled on this cryptic message in a trash can. He tried following the command. He shut down his processors and that was it. The evening news reader conveyed that the entire staff at the laboratory are still trying to understand why a perfectly normal processor should shut down on its own. 

The mail trail was endless. Somewhere deep down wisdom lay smothered. No back key stroke could unearth it. It was lost forever to the corporate jargon jungle. Even uber-visionaries and macro studies failed miserably. It remained a sad reality that can be wiped off forever by the delete button.   

Flabbergasted. That's how he felt. Because, today he could remember his name. But his face was still that of a stranger. The mirror never lies they say. Bull crap.  

There is no gain without pain  echoed the wall of fame. Every little grain  plays its own game.  For we are the losers who invented pain.   

The fire in your eyes are history Now all that remains is our story A story time has swept away forever Only to reappear at odd moments For skullduggery is an art perfected Over time, you prophesied  Something we tried,  Quite unsuccessfully  You are you and I am me We are someone else's for now Till we meet again This is goodbye     

There was a time when nothing mattered. That was long ago when the sun was just a speck in the sky.  But everything has changed. It is now a ball of fire scorching everything in its sight. Now even simple things like stepping out matters. 

It's time to clear the stage. The curtains are coming down. The music has ended. The audience are on their feet. The applause has died away. It's another day at work, the janitor mumbled. 

The bookshelf creaked under the weight of words. Especially when they were from authors who have honed their craft over the years. The wood was no match for the intellect. It felt the burden every time a new masterpiece was added.  

Suspense filled the room like fog fills the valley. Who killed poor old Doug? He was last seen nursing his margarita near the bar. The big game was on TV and everyone was glued to it. That's when Marge screamed seeing Doug slump in his barstool. All they saw was the blood gushing from his slit throat.  

There is always two sides for a story. The one that you get to hear and the one that you think it is. The story is never complete without knowing both. Most of the times it's just a half cooked story one gets to hear. That's when you inherit the story. You become a pawn. You start manipulating the story. Soon the story starts manipulating you.  

Reality sucks and no one needed to tell him that. Every time he faced the mirror, he was reminded of it. Nothing much has changed expect for the fact that the hair on his head has dwindled and new wrinkles have been added to his forehead. Can this be evolution? He used to wonder.      

Today there was this smiling face. It smiled at me amidst a wall of strangers. I suddenly felt at home. I smiled back only to realise that it was a mistake. The whole wall smiled back.   

This is to make up for yesterday. The story was pending. But yesterday wasn't like any other day. The story was ready to be told. Then came the rain. The pitter patter of the raindrops on the roof lulled him to sleep. When he woke up, it was today. Now that it's another day, the story has to wait. 

His main task was to get the right story for the right audience. He always felt he came up short in his duties. For there will always be someone who didn't quite agree with the stories he picked. It was a bitter pill for him to digest. That's when he met the doctor. It was in a seedy bar in the by-lanes of Mumbai. The doc was drunk and was shouting at anyone who dared to go near him. Pretty soon the bartender had to kick the doc out. That's when the doc uttered the magic words "Art is subjective you fool. Just like your wife." 

The story wrote itself. The events unfolded on their own. The lights came on and went off on cue. They just happened to be there at the right place at the wrong time.

This is the story of a hole in the wall. Everyday it shows what's on either side of the wall. One day a thinker came along and looked at the hole from both sides. Finally he muttered to himself "It's the hole that makes the picture whole" and he moved on.  

The story was missed sorely. The empty pages of his life sobbed to sleep. The day job didn't let him loose from its clutches. He was bored to death. 

The ground was damp with blood. It was a carnage last night. Emotions went on a rampage. Reason was marauded. The words exploded. The wound festered. They were two strangers on the same boat. Sailing to distant shores of their own.   

There we met again.  On the same benches.  Where friendships bloomed amidst tragedies,comedies and  everything in between.  

You can't take back the spoken word. In Lingoland that was a reality. Whatever you say will be floating around. That's why Lolo's mother got divorced. Her husband came across the sweet nothings she told her lover as a teenager. He found them bouncing off a college wall while he was painting it. Some politicians had to flee the land after their election promises surfaced at the most inappropriate times. So now no one speaks in Lingoland. They carry slates to communicate.    

Someone had to do this. So, what can't it be me? And you better do your part. Read this carefully.   

Today my head didn't feel like it was mine. It felt too fragile, there was something jangling deep inside. I unscrewed it to see if there were any loose contacts. Little did I know that the main processor shuts down once the head is detached.

He was facing the wall counting the ants. That day too wasn't any different. I said my usual hello. He never responds anyway. So I went on with my chores. That's when I realised that the ants were on him and that he was leaning on the wall.     

The oracle sent him a message on WhatsApp. He checked it, and that the prophesy was true. It said, you will never believe that I am on WhatsApp.

I still remember that day. We woke up feeling lighter. There was a pep on everyones step. Even the sad felt that a load has been lifted off their shoulders. The gym rats lifted more than usual. We felt good until Joseph found that he had to place more than usual on the weighing scales. Then all hell broke loose. By noon, the furniture started levitating. Water refused to stay down. Kids began to bounce higher. Blood began to rush to our brains. Cars floated. In fact anything that was independent had to be tied down. Some moored themselves to the trees. Our world was going light. We had lost gravity for ever.     

I am realising new things about me everyday. I am not a success as I think. I am not great as some say. I am not good as I want others to believe. I am a lost soul in a sea of faces. I have lost faith in myself. I don't know why I am drifting along. I don't know why I am playing my part. I don't know why I am keying this in. I don't know why you should be reading this. If I knew, then I won't be doing this I promise. I will be reading your mind. I will be predicting the future. I will be the one who knows it all. 

Love overflowing in virtual corridors Strangers becoming lovers, brothers, sisters and friends Our word is a strange place Stranger than fiction

This story was never to be written. For the writer was the main character in his own story. He was like a castaway in a flotsam of words. Clutching one word or the other before they drowned taking him down with them. Sent from an iPad that hates my spelling.

This is the biggest prank god has pulled on me. I am still alive in a dead body. 

The sweat sizzled on his skin. It felt as if the planet was on fire. This too shall pass. He reached out for the AC remote. He withdrew his hand as if stung by a scorpion. The remote had melted. I am on the seventh sun of the Marshy Way galaxy, he remembered with a shudder.    

The smile was there, but he was asleep. I didn't want to wake him up. I swiftly pulled out my trusted Walther and squeezed the trigger.

I am not what you see in the mirror I am not my FB profile I am not the car I drive I am not the clothes I wear I am not the books I read I am not the son you think I am I am not what you see I am not what I am  That's the only thing I am sure of.  

The arena was deserted. The corpses were lying in a heap. The smell of death and decay was everywhere. Somewhere in the horizon a meek sun was trying hard to escape the dark clouds. The gladiator was busy sharpening his sword. It was business as usual for him. 

Here I am, lost in other people's lives.  Their updates, photos and vacations. Peeking like a voyeur  Through windows left open for me. 

I was always black I can't sing for my life I can never be a pet  I am the dear departed's soul I am a dirty scavenger I am unlucky for some  Some say I am crooked  Some say I am clever as well I am just a bird The one that crows     

A cock'r crow from the butcher's shop An ambulance's wail in a traffic block A muted cry from behind closed doors What you see is not what you get. 

  Will you write on me, begged the paper. The haughty pen refused, and gave her a blank look. He wanted her to suffer, all alone, about her blankness. 

Voices in an empty elevator. Light behind closed doors.  Music lingering on dark alleys. Shadows at noon.     

The ant sued the elephant for plagiarism. In a press conference he blamed the elephant for masquerading as a superior ant. The media took it up. The pachyderm had no option but to drop any references to the ant from his name. He despised the day folks called him elephant. 

The announcement came late. The gates slammed shut immediately after. Those who were outside were shot. The dead formed a heap that blocked the gate. The question was who will defy the drones to move them out of the way. The living flocked around the information tower, waiting for another command to be barked out. 

Mario just came to me. Before the surprise died down, Jose and Gunter popped up. Strange, considering the fact that I had gone there to meet a whole new lot. Coincidence? I guess not, it has happened quite a few times before as well. I will be wandering looking for someone and then wham I end up with a new one. At times it's good, I still remember Kazantikas. It can be bad as well, Okri didn't impress me much.   

I was young then. My friends were young too. Now when I look back how I became friends with some of them remain a mystery. It took me a few years and another friend to understand what acquaintances really meant. I am old now. I don't think I have many friends. Today, everyone is an acquaintance. My real friends are books. I like them because they don't expect anything from me.   

The thoughts just shrivel up and die. It has been going on like this for quite some time. At first they seem to thrive, then all of a sudden they perish. It is time we took the mind for a check up.  

The game was on. The rules were simple. The winners live. The losers lose their lives. At times chance also plays its role. If you thought Russian Roulette, you are mistaken. This game is called life. 

I don't like to see them happy. I think that's my problem. It makes me depressed. I don't want them to be happy. How I hate them because they are happy. Pour me another, let me drink to that.    

Everyday when I look down from my skyscraper. I fear to see a dead body lying down there lifeless. Sometimes I am even scared to look. But then, thankfully it never happens. At times I am disappointed for the same reason as well.  

The storm was fast approaching. The first volley of drops hit the tin roof like a thunderous applause. The door was blown off its hinges by the wind. There in the middle of all this din sat XiangPa. A raindrop found its way inside through a hole on the roof. XiangPa looked up in anticipation. His eyes followed the drop on it's rapid descend to the dusty floor. As the drop hit the floor XingPa had a realisation. Our lives are like raindrops on a tin roof. Some make it to the floor and dissipate, some join others and end up in the gutter.    

She just said that to provoke me.  What did she say? Nothing.  

The other woman is back. She is now knocking on my friend's door. How the story goes will depend on who will let her in. The husband or the wife. 

You have come to the right place. We can fix it easily. How did you break it? Did you let it fall  by the wayside. Or did you forget all about it? Now that it's been a year, let's fix it. Or do you want to exchange it for a brand new one?   

Once upon a time, there was a planet. That's pretty vague isn't it? Approximately 18 billion years ago, there was a planet called Terrafirma. Approximately? Oh damn, this is why I never tell stories to Mercedian children. They always want everything to be accurate to the last decimal point.  

The first day of the year deserves a story. They wracked their brains to find one. They were known to be good at their trade. But this year it was proving to be too difficult. They soon realised that every conceivable story had already been taken by the last year. They had a reputation to live up to and they had only 24 hours to do it.