The Nature of Our Being

And ladies and gentlemen, it is done. The Final Front have defeated The Reign! The word monarch has fallen.”, veteran central T.V. anchor Rajon Gulliver announced.

“This is the end of an era. The class society has been defeated, the slaves rejoice at the Center Arch as we speak. This is landmark news, isn’t it Edna?”

Edna, the co-anchor, reciprocated the beaming, glee-filled radiance that his fellow anchor was portraying,
“It definitely is Rajon. It is the day people were waiting for. Liberation from the hierarchical society we are living in. And a hope for a classless world, the far fetched dream of an Utopia that finally seems possible…”

“I’m sorry Edna, I’ll have to cut you there, we have the Commander Latheos, live from the Center Arch. Commander, it is over, 20 years of bloody war, and now it is all over.”

“Yes, happiest days of our lives! Now we can go forward with Project Regen. A perfect world is
waiting for us!”

“Yes Commander, indeed it is. Say, Commander, just for our young viewers and for the uninitiated,
I doubt there are any, please repeat our grand plans for the ultimate renaissance.”

“It will an honour. In search of a classless society and a world where everyone is an equal, we take some drastic but necessary steps. First, we give up all technology, in order to come clean with nature and pay
her our tribute, for we have wronged her. Next, and more importantly, we all take the Red Pill, that will be provided to each person by Final Front representatives. This pill will take us into a deep sleep and we wake up with no memory of this wretched present.We wake as free men, equal men. And then it is done.”
“The clocks shall be reset and man shall be reborn.This will be the corner stone of our Utopia,  and we shall call it Earth.”

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

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True Darkness

I finished filing my work and was ready to leave for home. As soon as I reach the lift, the lights in the building go off.

My hands quiver, and I go numb all over.
Completely blinded, I reached for the wall and made my way through the hallway.Most of my colleagues had left, as it was very late in the day.

There was an eerie feeling to the place.I was nervous, and pensive beyond all limits. I struggle, stagger and somehow, make it to the cubicle.And in the darkness, I could make out the figure a man.It was him. With my shaky hands, I thrust the knife into his chest, and felt the life leave his body. No one cheats on me and gets away.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Deception in Plain Sight

I love to observe people. Stalkeresque as it may sound, it’s actually a very interesting exercise. I pride myself on getting the personalities right most of the time.

Appearances however, can be deceptively misleading. This wonderful story depicts how:

“Hey! I know this tea stall that has the best tea you’ll ever have! Let’s go there today.”

“Tea stall? Dude, these are the days of CCDs and Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. Brews there are of another level. Besides, those places are unhygienic.”

“Come on! Let me tell you, it is the best tea in this whole wild world.The aroma, the taste. It is pure magic. “

“Okay, if you say so.”

Both head towards the best tea in town. The tea stall, was a rickety little place. The owner and master tea maker was a very old man, probably in his seventies. with a grumpy look about his face.
The bare essentials were present- a jar full of tea, a jar full of sugar, a little station with gas and a saucepan. It just made the cut.

“Baba, two chai please. The very best of your special type!”

“Bro, this place is in bits and pieces. All tattered and dusty. And the old guy with the hideous look? How do you ever drink tea here?”

“Dude! He can hear you! Have some manners.”

“All right all right…”

The tea making process was nothing special, although, one thing stood out of the ordinary. The old tea maker kept adding spoons of sugar into the brew. Quite a lot of spoons.

“That’s it! I’m out of here. You could’ve told me that you liked your tea insanely sweet. That kind of calories is enough to kill a bear!” And he stormed off.

“I’m sorry Baba. He is always like that. But just out of curiosity and I have noticed this too, why do you add so many spoons of sugar?”

The old man did nothing but raise the spoon, and it was all clear.
It had  a big hole in the center.

A Mother After All

A mother’s love is like no other . Everyone knows that. But no one knows it better than I do.Here’s why:

The Tomb of Leeza is a beautiful place, with a bloodied past. A mother is said to have been buried alive by the King, who then took her son away and gave it to his queen, who was without a child. It is said that the king had the mother’s thumbs chopped off and and then had her locked in a small room. Without her thumbs, the mother could never escape. Later, the king built this gigantic tomb around that little chamber, as a remembrance of the mother’s ‘sacrifice’.
Me and some pals took a trip to the place once.It was beautiful and scenic to a point that you felt as if it was hiding something. The blue sky, the lush green grass, and of course, the huge red soil colored tomb. We explored  the chambers in the tomb and stumbled upon the center room. And it was eerie. Dark, dingy and signs of struggle all over. The place reeked of fear and horror. One felt bad for the poor woman, who had her child taken away and was then buried alive.
Our group decided to take off as the place was creepy to death. One by one we made our way out, but just as I was about to get out (I was the last one.), the stick keeping the door open gave away and the heavy brick door slammed shut.
I shuddered with fear. I was in the tomb, alone. My friends tried hard but could not move the door an inch. They said it would take time to bring help, but I knew that no help would come till tomorrow. I braced myself for a night alone.
Time went by. More than anything, the grim environs was what scared me the most. I kept myself busy with dirt-drawing and sleeping.
It was then, perhaps well past midnight, that I heard a faint cry. I curled up in the deepest corner of the room and kept still. The cries grew louder and louder till a point where I felt scared, but also sorry. I was so moved that I began to cry, not out of fear, but out of pity. The cries subsided to soft sobs. I wished I could console her. I cried myself to sleep.Sun rays woke me up the next morning.I was in the company my friends, who were staring down at me earnestly The local police had helped them to open the door. The horror on their faces was palpable. Something was off. I told them the whole story, but to my surprise, no one made fun of me.
Back home,when I looked at a mirror, I realized why my friends were so grim. My cheeks had blood streaks over them and my hair was frizzy. No,it was’t mine. It was as if someone who had bloody hands, had wiped my tears and patted my head.

Ways of Life

*June 15th, 1982*
Tumko Dekha toh yeh khayal aaya.
The new Jagjit Singh gem set the mood at the Chai shop, when I saw her again.
My word! Isn’t she just breathtaking?
She stood at the Bus Depot, flawless, serene, simple. I gawked at her until Mahesh Bhai reminded me that my Irani tea was going cold. But what else could I do? She was beyond any other girl. Mahesh Bhai deduces that either I have Alzheimer’s or I’m in love. I too think that the Alzheimer’s thing is true, love sounds too crazy.I should talk to her, maybe.”

*Dec 28th, 2014*
“Manisha looks in truly positive spirits as she chases down a big butterfly. She is a little princess, with her soft golden locks freely flowing. Her mother would approve, she loved her curls as well.It’s a fine day at the park.
I see her in our daughter.
I sit back and listen to some music. Jagjit Singh. And it takes me back…
How I truly miss her, and how I break down at times. But I would never part with those wonderful 20 years we had. Right from the days of the bus depot till the marriage. Those are the days that keep me going. Even after she was diagnosed with leukemia, we had so much love. Some sweet talks, those late night book readings, and love that grew stronger each day.
Yes,love it was. Mahesh Bhai was wrong after all.

Zindagi dhoop, tum ghanaa Sayaa.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Fool Metal Jacket

It was a trap! Or was it?
I have been holed up in there for three long days now, cornered and nowhere to go.  I need to go out and get some supplies. And there it was in front of me. Days worth of stuff. How did it come to this?

We were doing good. We had infiltrated most of the area. And our grasp on each sector was growing strong.We had planned this. Thoroughly. Our recces were rigorous and maneuvers were relentlessly practiced. Little did we anticipate what came next.
Somehow, the enemy got to us.All our plans lie in waste. Our intricate underground sub-system had failed us. All my comrades died or went missing. It was the new chemical warfare tactics those scoundrels had been using.  And it’s contagious too. Those inhuman bastards sully their own name. Where has the honour in war gone?

And now this. I’m short of supplies and risk has to be taken.I have to take this chance. I have to tread slowly, else I’ll be caught.

SNAP!

My tail was caught in the hook!
Can’t believe I fell for a rattrap.Once again, cheese is our undoing.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Delirium

Dangerous wouldn’t even begin to describe the situation that he was in.
Minutes ago, he was cozy in his bed, reading Robert Ludlum on a Friday night. When suddenly, he heard these groaning noises that scared the hell out of him. As the noises grew louder and closer, fear took over and he hid inside the closet and waited. He waited till the groans died down.
He sat down and tried to relax, trying to convince himself that nothing was wrong, that it was just a mouse. It is ironic how death strikes you when you least expect it to.
A GROAN reverberated. He stiffened, and shuddered in fear.
This time, it was from inside the closet.

*Save*

He fixed his glasses. Very nice. Very nice indeed. He patted himself on the back, for the great creepy-pasta he had just written. Small, but packs a punch, he thought. Now he can go and pee. He had been holding it in, in his excitement.
Great stories come in the creepiest of situations. His parents being away and the whole house being dark was the ultimate stage. As he returned from the washroom,  he noticed something weird. The notepad application looked blank. His entire story was gone.
Well, except for one line. As he neared his PC, the line grew clearer, until he could read the line clearly.

‘NICE STORY.’, it said.

*Save*

She finished her story amidst the constant  rattling of trees in the monstrous storm outside. Her penchant for darker themes had bested her again. She grew restless. As much as she enjoyed horror stories, she inadvertently became aware of her surroundings once she has written or read one. She put her dairy on the table top and tried to sleep. She tried hard, but to no avail.
The hand stroking her hair made it difficult. Especially ’cause she was alone in the house that night.

*Save*

He was happy with his layered horror story. This would be a hit in the blogosphere, he thought. Just then, he heard a strange noise coming from the backyard. Amused by how real life can sometime mimic stories, he headed out to check upon the miscreant, probably a mouse. He never came back…

I found this story on his PC, unpublished.Prior to his disappearance, he had gone insane, went on writing weird stories. And he always talked about this figure that stalked him.A figure no one else could see.
We should never have gone to the graveyard that night…

Charlie, if you see this story or stumble upon it on the internet,come back, or give a call man. It’s been 8 years now…