Wednesday, 19 October 2011
People Love Throwing....
Petals At Faces
Garbage Out Of Windows
Stones At Street Dogs
Rule-Books At Rebels
Cakes At Apes
Paanch-Sau Ke Notes At Sheila
Compliments At Superiors
Caution To The Wind
Gold At Gods Of Stone
Thursday, 29 September 2011
ONE MAN'S TERRORIST IS ALWAYS ANOTHER MAN'S FREEDOM FIGHTER...
Sunday, 18 September 2011
Wednesday, 7 September 2011
But she wanted to be sure.
"Mirror Mirror on the wall...who's the most evil and most wicked of them all?", she asked in a voice that was only a tone short of a screech.
Pat came the reply. "You are, my lady."
But she wasn't convinced. Slaves were always out to please their masters, after all.
So she switched on her computer and visited wikileaks....
Monday, 15 August 2011
This post bagged the Bronze Batom (3rd position)
This post was published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 23; the twenty-third edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for this month was FREE.
They were men on a mission. Six young men determined to get their freedom. Each of them carried a heavy backpack, and had a device held tightly in their fists. Their eyes looked far out into the horizon and their faces were devoid of emotion. It was hard to tell whether it was the look of focus or that of cold remorseless rage.
Duke led his men into the elevator. After having scaled 12 stories, he walked them out to the reception area. He then signaled them to follow him as he walked briskly towards the reception table.
Without a word of greeting, he said to the receptionist, "We wanna meet the Master."
The young lady fumbled for words, "Erm...well...the Master said he shouldn't be disturbed. He's in the middle of a..."
"We demand a meeting with him right now!!!" the six men barked out in unison.
She quickly picked up her phone and punched a digit. "Master, Duke and his team seek to meet you." Clumsily dropping the receiver, she informed them, "You may go in."
The band of six marched in, with Duke walking right in front of them, towards the Master's cabin. Having reached the door, Duke simply pushed it open, without caring to knock.
Inside, they saw the Master sitting with his feet resting on top of the table. His arms were folded behind his head. He was wearing dark sunglasses.
"Well, well. If it isn't my dear Duke and his team of five", the Master said. "Welcome my boys. Dawn says you were desperate to meet me. You shouldn't have scared the poor girl the way you did. She's such a sweet young lady."
"We don't care if she's sweet or tangy. We just came to return these." He pulled off his backpack and dropped it on the Master's table. Ditto with the device that was lodged in his fist. The five aped their leader.
"Not done boys. Just a few months ago, when I gave these to you, you were jumping with joy. What's wrong with these?" the Master enquired.
"We didn't know we'd be parting with our freedom. We've become slaves to these devices. Take these back and give us something else" said Duke. The others nodded in agreement.
The Master swore under his breath. "Very well then. Have these instead." He opened his drawer and pulled out six boxes.
At first quite hesitant to even look at the boxes, Duke and his team jumped like little kids as soon as they found out what they contained.
"Thank you Master." said Duke on behalf of his boys. "We misunderstood you. You have been kind and generous. Sorry for being rude."
"It's okay my boys. Now go out and enjoy yourselves."
After they had left the building, Dawn rushed in. "You okay Master?"
Looking at the pile of devices on his table, she asked, "They've returned their laptops and cellphones? What do we do with these?"
"Give them to the newbies. They'll love them...for a few months at least” he sniggered.
“And what about Duke and his team? Aren’t they gonna work?”
“Relax” said the Master. “I’ve given them Blackberrys.” And he burst out in a sinister laugh that echoed through the building.
We're slaves to devices...even if they're free.
Sunday, 7 August 2011
Goga sucked the last puff in very slowly. He knew he’d finally run out of cigarettes.
“What’s the little rat’s name again?”, he asked, treading on the stub.
“I think the boss said Abdul”, replied Tony, rubbing his eyes and stifling a cough or two. Being nicotine-intolerant wasn’t appreciated in his business circles.
“Hmm..Abdul. That snitch has been letting the cops in on our coke business for months now. We’ve lost consignments worth at least 15 million so far because of that kid. He’s gotta go down.”
“The boss said this is the area he frequents. No other clues though. No one knows what he looks like. We don’t even know if that’s his real name.”
“Damn”, swore Goga under his breath, instinctively rummaging through his pockets for another ciggie. He swore again after he remembered he’d run out of stock. “So, how then are we supposed to find him.”
Tony only shrugged his shoulders.
Just then, a lame man emerged from the crowd. He was seated on a mini-cart, propelling himself forward using his hands. He suddenly burst out into a song.
Aate Jaate Hue Main Sab-pe Nazar Rakhta Hun
Aate Jaate Hue Main Sab-pe Nazar Rakhta Hun
Naam Abdul Hai Mera, Sabki Khabar Rakhta Hun...
Tony and Goga looked at each other and scratched their heads for a couple of seconds. When realisation suddenly dawned upon them, they smiled, gave each other high-fives, rubbed their hands in anticipation of their scalp, and went looking for the singer.
POOR ADVERTISING CAMPAIGNS CAN KILL
YOUR PRODUCT YOU.
Here's Abdul's Song ==> ABDUL'S SONG
P.S.:- Here's reminding you about the blogging contest on The Bloggeratti Community. The theme is "WET IN THE RAIN".For details, go to this link ==> BLOGGERATTI CONTEST LINK
Sunday, 24 July 2011
“Doesn’t look so good.” Marsh’s eyes were still scanning the images.
“You kiddin me?” said Jenkins, plonking down his coffee mug. “They’re horrible.”
The images sure looked eerie and sinister. ‘The Indian subcontinent’, the label revealed. Although the areas occupied by its immediate neighbours seemed quite clear and free of any blemishes, India’s hinterland had what seemed like veins running all over it. The veins bore countless perforations.
“What on earth are these? “ Jenkins asked, pointing at the perforations. “Craters? Mines? Extra-terrestrial markings?”
Marsh nodded. “Call them what you will. Your guess is as good as mine. Whatever the hell those things are, they’re all over the place.”
“We’ve got to warn their government ASAP. Whadda you think?”
“Negative. The State informatics department would never let us do that.”
“Why not?” Jenkins snatched the pictures out of Marsh’s hands. “Don’t these satellite images mean anything? We’re talking about the second largest population in the world here.”
“Information sharing agreements”, Marsh contested. We don’t have any such agreement with their government....or even their agencies for that matter.”
Jenkins protested, “You mean you’re not gonna give them the slightest hint? You’re not gonna tell them that something strange is happening?”
“Not right now.”
“That sounds like never.”
Marsh smirked. “Sorry buddy. We’ve got to follow protocol here. Besides, they have a huge satellite programme of their own. I bet their government is already in the know. It’s not a dot somewhere. It’s a whole lot of dots all over.”
“Hmm.” Jenkins agreed.
“What surprises me though..”, said Marsh, signalling that he wasn’t finished yet, “..is that if these things are so obvious, why aren’t they doing anything about it?”
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GLOBE...IN MUMBAI
Two project engineers are peering into a 4-by-4 feet crater.
Mhatre adjusted his soda-glasses. “Is this the biggest one?”
“I think so sir” quipped his assistant, Jaiswal. “But I guess more are in the making.”
“What do you think is in there?”
“Locals say a Tata Nano, a cow, three pedestrians and probably even a BEST bus.” Jaiswal burst out laughing.
Mhatre was serious. “It’s not funny Jaiswal. I wonder what our country’s road network looks like from outer space.”
P.S.:- The Bloggeratti Community on Orkut/FB is organising a blogging contest. The theme is "WET IN THE RAIN".
For details, go to this link ==> BLOGGERATTI CONTEST LINK
Saturday, 25 June 2011
“So, does it make sense?” asked Trilok, still perplexed. This had been the first fruitful excavation for the forty-something archaeologist.
Prof. Gogoi didn’t seem to hear him. Squatting on damp earth, the hieroglyph expert continued to study the tablet. “Do you have any idea about how old this thing might be?”
“You’re the expert, you tell me.”
The expert doffed his safari hat and beamed at the acknowledgement. “I’m certain this is of Gandolik origin. So, considering the fact that their civilisation was wiped out circa 800 BC...”
“More than 2800 years ago?” The archaeologist felt his heart thud to the tune of a Euro-trash track.
The professor nodded. He pulled out a brush and used it to gently rid the tablet of earth that had filled the grooves in its inscriptions. For an artifact this old, it was incredibly intact. The image of a naked female form squatting at the edge of a cliff, watching a strange-looking bundle fall, and the angry waves of the sea beneath lashing at the base of the cliff became more prominent.
The professor pulled a dusty diary from his pocket and made a note. Then he pushed it back in.
He carefully picked up one of the earthen platters Trilok had briefed him about earlier. Although it now seemed to be a mere shadow of its original form, it bore signs of something having been burnt on it.
Gogoi wore his hat and stood up. “Let’s see this cliff now, shall we?”
The cliff stood a good 150 feet above the sea below. The lashing of waves was constant. Gogoi knew that the Gandoliks deified nature. He pulled out his diary and made another note. He then nudged Trilok back to the main hall where the tablet and the platters lay.
A few silent moments later, Trilok quizzed him, “Well?”
“Let’s see now, earthen platters to burn what seems like incense...a tablet depicting a woman making a sacrifice to the sea god...this place seems to have been an altar.”
Trilok pondered in silence for a few minutes. Then he spoke up, “There’s an inscription I haven’t told you about yet, Professor. It’s on the wall outside the original doorway leading to this chamber. The entrance was covered by a huge boulder that must’ve come crashing down during the frequent seismic activity in those ages.”
“Where is it?”
“I’ll take you there, but just be careful. We’re yet to clear the spot of rocks and other loose rubble that we fear might give way any time.”
Trilok led him to a wall in a corner of the main hall, where a thick tarpaulin sheet hung to prevent stones and rubble from entering the cave. He pulled it aside to let the expert walk through first, and followed him in. The duo crept through a thin crevice in the wall. Having made their way through, they turned around to face the other side of the wall.
Trilok pulled out his torch and ran it over the basalt wall. Inscriptions....
Although worn out, the signs were quite legible. Gogoi grabbed the torch from Trilok to take a better look. It bore Gandolik symbols, as he had expected. The carvings were surely the work of someone who knew his craft well. It didn’t take him much time to decipher the signs.
“Well?” asked an eager Trilok.
“Well mister archaeologist, the image you saw on the tablet inside the hall? That depicted a woman making a sacrifice to the sea god. A very big sacrifice”
“The bundle falling off the cliff? Seems to be a newborn. A firstborn child, perhaps.”
Trilok’s heart beat faster now. “God...so what you’re saying is...”
The professor’s tone turned morbid now. “Not just me, my friend, this tablet here says it too.” He dug his hands into his pockets. “Trilok...what you have uncovered here is an ancient sacrificial altar!”
FLASHBACK – CIRCA 950 BC
Ranghosa peered down the cliff. The waves kept lashing at its base. There was no way anything that had fallen down would pile up and rot. The platters to burn incense leaves would take care of remnant odours. The carvings on the tablet inside the cave were better than he had anticipated. Everything was perfect. The master sculptor beamed as he visualised the village chieftain showering praises on him for a job well done.
Only one aspect remained.
He walked towards the entrance of the cave to check on his pupil.
“Are you finished Tabri?” he asked his young apprentice. The boy had done a wonderful job so far.
“Yes master. Exactly as you had instructed. Take a look.”
Ranghosa picked up a flaming torch and inspected the wall. He couldn't help but notice the beauty of the inscriptions. Each symbol was properly aligned and the dimensions were consistent. Tabri was as good as the villagers had said he was. The inscriptions reflected the markings of someone who knew his craft quite well. The effort showed. He began to bless his pupil, even before he could finish his inspection.
Tabri saw that the master was pleased. He began dreaming about more jobs, recommendations, an audience with the King, gold coins, land, a mansion....
But suddenly, a loud shriek from his master yanked him out of his dream.
Ranghosa’s hands were on his head, his eyes were red with rage and his teeth were clenched. He yelled out in horror, “Holy Goddess of the Berry Shrub! Young man, is that how you spell TOILET???”
P.S. – Just a thought. Can anyone vouch for all the history that has been passed on to us being 100% accurate?
Monday, 30 May 2011
The hero yawned loud enough to produce a rattle in the dingy confines of the roadside cafeteria. He could swear he had almost drowned out the relentless cackle on his walkie-talkie. It was someone from the control room, asking him if he was on his way to the spot. He replied in the affirmative, just like he had been doing since the past 30 minutes or so. Deciding that he’d had enough of the reminders, he reluctantly dropped his now-empty cutting chai and crushed his cigarette butt next to the ashtray. He picked up his hat, and walked towards his bike like a bored zombie. Five lazy minutes later, he managed to get his vehicle in motion.
“Why can’t Superman do everything?”, he muttered to himself.
A few minutes down and the hero had reached the west end of the bridge. There were people screaming and peering over the side of the bridge, peering into the lake below. The man who had reportedly been standing on the edge of the long steel structure and threatening to jump into the lake below was nowhere in sight. “Must’ve jumped already”, the hero thought to himself.
And then he saw the other hero. He was dressed just like him. In his mind, he thanked the stars. This was exactly what he'd been hoping for.
Both gave each other a knowing stare, which wasn't exactly friendly. They walked slowly towards each other, one step followed by the other, in a manner befitting a Hollywood Western showdown. Oblivious to the jeering crowds and the searing heat, they walked till they reached the centre of the bridge, marked by a thick red line. Then, almost in synchronised harmony, they peered down the side of the bridge at the spot where the man had apparently jumped. The hero crossed his fingers and waited patiently. The other man dressed like him did exactly the same.
Two hours later, the body emerged, bloated at the midriff and its skin a ghostly white. But the hero was least concerned about the loss of life - he had more or less prepared his mind for a casualty. He simply wanted to make sure it didn't get any worse.
He looked at the body and compared its position to the red line on the bridge. After satisfying himself that the body was floating at a spot comfortably beyond his side of the thick red line, he pumped his fist in the air and let out a winning war cry of sorts.
The hero had cheated misfortune yet again.
“Sorry, your jurisdiction”, he said loudly to the other man dressed just like him, as we walked towards his bike emphatically.
Superman Khakhi-Man had saved the his precious day.
Trust the average Indian cop to pass the buck every time there’s a job on hand. Hell, why just cops?
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