Hanging from a Bridge

It should've been a good day.
Good enough to make my feet sway.
I still found a way, like a midge,
To see a man hanging from a bridge.
In search of a church, I left my berth.
My stature smirched and mind disturbed.
Driving on a broken road in a stolen Ford,
With a swollen load on my molten soul,
To say amen every now and then
And find my way to heaven.

Halfway into the journey, my ride gave up.
"My belly is burning", she made up.
She kicked, jerked and spurted to a stop,
While I clicked, worked and blurted a sob.
Wearing Benetton outside a Sheraton,
My menacing eye looking for a Samaritan,
I stopped an old man in a three-wheeled cab
And offered to gab if he downed his meter tab.
Voila! He went blah blah in his rickshaw.
With my clenched jaw, I heard all of his flaws.

Riding every explosion under me, controlling every emotion in me,
The rickshaw motioned towards a commotion on the way, slowly.
“Come, let’s check this out”, said my main man, the chauffeur.
Surrounded by curious loafers, I became alert and walked over,
To a bridge. A green stream with silver bream flowed under it.
My accomplice pulled me towards the edge
To show an old man hanging to his death.
A sketch of the wretch is etched in my head.
More haunting was the crowd gathered.
Mocking, watching and yawning; not bothered.


The neck was bent in an awkward angle,
Tangled in a rope, hanging with no hope.
Like a puffed up stuffed doll with cuffed head.
Before I knew it, I was back in my taxi,
dizzy, but ready to resume my journey.
“He looked old, like me. Neglected by this society.
What would happen to me?”, my cabby asked rhetorically.
I was muted by the reality of the event surreal,
Amazed by the world full of stories unreal, we’ll never feel,
anything, if we can’t taste it in our own meal.



I don’t know his name or if he was sane,
what was his shame, or who was to blame.
I didn’t see the hole that made him sink,
That made him think of crossing the brink.
There was nobody I could see, that cried for him.
No family to carry his body or sing a grim hymn.
I wish I knew him better; his story,
His life, his testimony, his strife.
I don’t know his pain or the loss he incurred,
All I can do is keep him alive in my words.

Event Horizon

Dr. Owen Miller is pushing for an unmanned space mission that NASA is uninclined to support. He travels to India where he meets Manu Sharma, who seems to be the right solution.

Together, they work towards sending a new electric unmanned vehicle to probe an unknown space body, which is hovering over a black hole situated near the Sun.

When Owen disappears mysteriously, Manu is left alone to prepare everyone for a dystopian future.

Ben and his father Philip have been kidnapped by Manu and placed in an underground bunker. In the midst of introspection, futuristic technology, and social commentary they notice a new society filling up the bunker.

Asha, a mysterious girl who has known Owen since she was a child, enters the bunker and changes everything.

Will Manu be able to save the world? Who are Phil, Ben, and Asha? And why are they important?

To find out, navigate through the most realistic Sci-Fi ever that has plausible futuristic technologies, a huge premise and a philosophical AI that spits slam poetry.

Choice

The choice of no choice, is the world we live in.

Shall I hold my poise or shall I make noise while swimmin’?

Shall we sing “Rain rain go away” or “Showers of blessing”?

Can we be ignorant or shall we follow the news depressing?

Do we go up or do we run out? Shall we shout help or shall we quell pout?

What’s important and what’s not? Should we food hunt or build a big yacht?

Shall we mourn the dead or shall we save the dying?

Shall I leave my bed or take up flying?

How can I enjoy this weather and drink hot tea on my balcony?

When we together are responsible for this brutality.

Is it really God’s fury or our work in a quarry?

Can we blame the seas or shall we frame the dead trees?

It’s either corruption or religious division,

Genocide or population explosion,

Cash cow or bash now, brainwash or hogwash,

Eat or be eaten, beat or be beaten, cheat or be cheated.

We can act or we can watch. We can speak or we can listen. Be loved or be hated.

Have tact or be a blotch. Be bleak or you can glisten. Be love or be hate.

You can have a drive or you can be driven. You can forgive or be forgiven.

Choose anything and you’ll see, the choice of no choice, is the world we live in.

Dream

                                                                DREAM

I used to walk every day, sculpting myself night and day.

It was art, like a potter with clay, or a Shakespearean soliloquy.

On these walks, I pondered my life choices,

Visualized my success as the world rejoices.

But my sounds were plagued by white noises,

My dreams were crushed by so many voices.

Why do I bear this pain in my brain in vain?

I abstain from my dreams, even if they’re ingrained.

I am numbed by my situation. It feels like a concussion.

I built my body for cremation even though I am your creation.

My hair is too long, my habits are wrong, my senses are gone.

If I am a sprinter, can I run a marathon? My life, you pawn.

My legs are cramping, I don’t stop walking, I start running.

When I reach my destination, I stop losing and start winning.

You don’t know me, you never will, if my obedience, is this drill.

With this weight on my head, I will run uphill, till I stand still.

I see so much on these walks. Leaves fall,

ragdolls, gold coins hidden by grasses tall.

I see railway tracks, never used, just existing.

My life in cracks, on a road, never taken, yet persisting.

I see my neighbor across the road, weary and old.

With long hair, old clothes and a look that shows he’s bored.

He walks like me, jobless and carefree, limping with cramps or a bad knee.

He recognizes my face and waves at me, tears flow, as I wave back at me.

Happy

I should be happy, I should be asleep,
But in the stillness of the night, I hear someone weep.
I know I am great, or so I am told,
I remember being funny, I think I was bold.
I have been treated badly, even with disdain;
But that’s not the reason I feel pain.
I still am funny, I still do laugh,
It’s an illusion, in it, there’s no heart;


It’s so late at night, I can see a new sun,
My head is too groggy to think of a pun.
Once my throat was dry from talking uncut,
Now my mouth stinks from remaining shut.
I was once in love with my sleep, why didn’t it last forever?
I know not why our relationship is severed, we are not together.
I guess it was a war between me and everyone,
I lost my smile, I guess I lost a ton.


It’s gone on too long, I am inured,
Everybody is happy, they say I am cured.
The greatest privilege is to love and care,
I have seen emptiness, I wish I could share.
I have more than many, my needs are met,
I have nothing, nothing I wanted to get.
My pillow is drenched, it’s not sweat,
I knew I heard someone weep, my eyes are wet.

Rebel

So, you think you're a rebel?
Are you really? Or do you want to be visible?
Is it because you think everyone hates you?
No they don't; They just don't patronize you.
Is it because you think everyone loves you?
No they don't; Otherwise you won't feel like you.
Is it because you think they want to be you?
No they don't; Nobody can be you.

So, you think you're a rebel?
Or are you scared of being one among the pebbles?
Is it because everyone is conspiring against you?
Or is it because you aren't getting the respect due?
You really must think you're important,
why else would you get so despondent?
What have you achieved with your own might?
Have you gone through fire to become a light?

So, you think you're a rebel?
Do you listen to punk rock or heavy metal?
Have you broken a few trivial rules?
Or have you stolen inexpensive jewels?
Rebels will never be criminals,
maybe a musician, poet or something abysmal.
They do no wrong except follow their heart.
You are a rebel if you make your own pie chart.

Nothing

“Become something first”, is all I got when I asked anything.

Where’s the fun in becoming something when you can be nothing.

Life is a prelude to our real lives, which is eternal,

Why waste it on a desire so useless and carnal.

Take the path less traveled by is what they say,

That should be the mantra to success they pray.

In this race to become something they forget,

Doesn’t everyone want to be first? I bet.

Everybody idolizes a hero, who wants a cipher?

Ask a hero how he feels, always under pressure.

If making something of yourself is all that matters,

Then how foolish of God to give us life, who leave his earth in tatters.

Heroes are the supermodels of this world,

Good to see from far but still a part of a herd.

“Become something first”, is all I got when I asked anything.

I said, “I become infallible if I know I am nothing.”

“I want to be like water, pushed around by the stones,

But reach my destination with the same taste.

They spit me, waste me and throw me,

But they can’t live without me.”

How good would it be to be free?

Enjoy all the small things like air, water and tree.

Life is to be lived without any pressure or gain,

When I was made, I was something, do I need to prove it again?

The Beach Auction

The curtains danced over my face, its threads caressing my shut eyes as the morning sun rose above my house and illuminated my room. My eyes were still shut but my ears weren’t, because someone decided to yell my name loudly in what I thought was a dream. But like every other day, it was my father yelling at the top of his voice trying to wake me up when I was busy enjoying my sleep early in the morning. All good things come to an end and so did my sleep when my father walked up to my bed that particular morning and yelled my name into my ear, “Prakash!” he yelled. My typical reaction would have been to go on a killing spree, since sleep has always been my first priority. But when your father is an ex-black-cat commando, you don’t wake up with a grumpy face or a heavy sigh; you wake up with a jump, sit up straight, and make the bed with no questions asked. My father expected me to do all this in one swift movement of my complete body, in under 10 seconds.

That particular morning though he was in quite a hurry, which I thought was normal. Till he told me to finish my coffee quickly and come down to the garage. Now that was a sign of trouble, because whenever my father did that it was either to buy some meat that he’ll make me clean or for a run which always ended with me ending kilometres behind my father. Sometimes he just called me to wash the car, which I thought was worse than torture. Keeping my fingers crossed, I went to the garage only to see my father waiting in the car for me.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Vizhinjam” he replied.

Vizhinjam is a beach very near to its famous brother Kovalam, but isn’t as huge or clean as the latter. Over the years this beach had become a place for fishermen to unload and sell their fishes to fisherwomen, who would then sell these fishes in all the fish markets scattered over the city, at exorbitant prices if I might add. My grandfather used to go directly to these market places early in the morning and buy the best fish, which were usually auctioned, and my dad continued this tradition. 

“Are we going to bid?” I asked my father.

This was the first time I was attending an auction and maybe that excitement was a little too evident in my voice.

“Maybe, if we find some good fish at the right price,” he replied.

Since his reply wasn’t encouraging enough, I sat back in my seat and started thinking about the smell and muck I would have to endure on the vast beach. As if I wasn't scared by every creepy crawly living being enough, fear of half-dead fishes with sharp scales that could cut your hand was pretty reassuring. I just wished by dad would handle them and I would carry them in the sañci (carry bag) till the car to feel like a man. I didn't like touching the slimy, pointy and beach sand covered creatures.

After an endless drive, we finally reached a crowded Vizhinjam beach. So crowded, that the ocean was hardly visible from the parking spot. Both of us decided very quickly, not to take the car any farther because it was my grandfather’s car. So we left the car, with only money and car keys in my father’s hands. We proceeded towards the beach, my eyes fixed on heaps of different varieties of fish just lying on the ground being sold by fisherwomen.

“If these women see you staring at their fishes like that, they might just pull you towards their stock and sell them to you” said my father.

“Aren’t we going to buy anyways?” I asked.

“Not from here,” he replied. “We’ll buy it from those boats” he continued, pointing towards the ocean where I could see more than ten boats filled with fishes.

We walked towards the boats, which were at the shore and I looked wide-eyed at all the heaps of fish and the way people were buying them. I could hear people surrounding the boats, yelling their price for the fish and the fishermen then trying to sell the fish by shouting the bids out loud. We passed many boats; some had fishes which we weren’t interested in buying, some had good fishes where the veterans buyers would outbid us at the last moment and some didn’t have fresh fishes. This last category of boats, where the fish didn't look fresh, were the scammers. They took the unsold fishes out to the ocean and made a grand return to make the customers think that they were fresh catch. 

Many boats came, many were emptied and taken away as the sun became hotter and tourists, mostly caucasian, started filling the whole market. They were bad for local customers, because they drove the prices up. 

I stared at the light blue sky and its reflection in the ocean. But the site that grabbed my attention the most, was a mosque built on the rocks with its back towards the shore.  The sun reflected of its top to make me squint. When I turned back, I couldn’t see my father anywhere near, so I walked to a new boat which had just reached the shore. There weren’t many people crowding it, so I went and stood there only to find my father standing across on the other side of the boat. The bidding had already started and the price had already reached Rs. 800, which was placed by my father of course. There wasn’t much competition either except for a fisherwoman who was quite determined to outbid my father. I saw the price double in a matter of seconds and the auctioneer's tongue shouting bids at the speed of light. This went on till the price became Rs. 1800 and I started losing faith in the whole idea of “buying fish at a cheaper price from the ocean”.

“1800 onnu, 1800 randu, 1800 moonu” announced the auctioneer, bringing his hand down and signalling the end of the auction.

There was a silence for a few moments as the auctioneer hesitated to put the fishes in the fisherwoman’s basket. My father gave me a signal and started walking away from the boat, but a few fishermen walked up to the boat and told my father to stay put. They started beating up the auctioneer till blood splashed all over the blackish wet sand. After a few minutes, when they were done with him, they showed his bleeding face to all the bidders at his boat.

“This woman is his wife” they declared, pointing towards the fisherwoman who was outbidding my father. Some people took the basket from the fisherwoman and gave it to my father, who took it with a smile on his face. The mob of angry buyers were surprised, many tried to stop my father when he took out Rs. 1700 from his mundu and gave it to the auctioneer before dragging me away from the shore towards the car.

“You didn’t have to give that money. Seventeen hundred is a lot for a basket of fish,” I said, after placing the basket at the back of the car.

“I agree. But getting more than five kg of sardine which is worth more than three thousand in the fish market, at a mere seventeen hundred is a very good deal” he replied with a broad smile.

I turned my head to get a last glimpse at the auctioneer, the ocean, and the mosque but nothing was visible through the crowded shores of Vizhinjam.  

Love and Laws

The strictest laws give birth to the worst offenders,

Everyone wants to be a hero, so who wouldn't want to be a rule breaker?

But if the laws are eradicated wouldn't we become wild creatures?

These are the laws made not by us, but by our maker.

But if love is free, a feeling, a preacher;

Then why are the laws made to make love a misdemeanor?

It’s said, “Love is within us, love surrounds us.”

This is the law of nature and maybe something divine.

Love is all that we need, maybe even a kiss.

Since it is the hardest to find, the rules have to be mine.

Laws will be made and laws will be broken,

This is the only rule to find unconditional love.

Some follow the rules and some don’t,

If you know you are nothing, you can’t get hurt.

Human norms are many and we are just clones.

Get out of this rut, get the work done and have a little fun.

Go get what you want the most and make your life brighter,

We who go against worldly laws aren't losers, we are fighters.  

My Child

My Child

She was my child, my own flesh,

my baby girl was a part of me.

I had so many dreams of a lovely creche,

where my daughter would study with glee.

I can still see the small hands and the soft skin

in my head, through my eyes, but it’s all just a dream.

She’ll always be and is still my kin,

I wish I could hear her at night cry and scream.

What was her fault? Was it being a girl?

So am I, maybe I should have taken the pain.

I wish I could see her crawl and swirl

and maybe someday see her dance in the rain.

She was taken away from me mercilessly,

nobody thought of giving her a second chance.

I just wanted once to hold her closely,

feed her once or maybe just get a glance.

I feel betrayed by the man of my life,

he loved me deeply but killed a part of me.

Somebody tell my baby I was threatened with a knife.

I didn't know how to fight or where to flee.

With a heavy heart I have to walk into the same mesh.

How can I forgive him after what he did to me?

She was my child, my own flesh,

my baby girl was a part of me.

The Best Man

It was five minutes past one o’clock, the sun shone with rage right over my head and the centrally air conditioned glass ceiling of the Renaissance Hotel prevented me from getting tanned. I was having a severe headache despite wearing a pair  sunglasses to keep my eyes from hurting. I was suffering from a severe case of what everyone in the restaurant knew I was suffering from, the worst hangover ever. I had already gulped down two cups of black coffee and burnt my tongue and just when I thought the day couldn’t get any worse I started getting flashbacks of last night.

 It was my best friend Jacob’s wedding and after the ceremony there was a celebration back at Jacob’s place. The whole wedding was pretty boring except for the bride’s sister who was the centre of attraction and then there was the grape juice which I devoured. I regretted drinking five glasses of grape juice when Jacob told me about the party after the ceremony because I had partied with Jacob all through college to know what exactly he meant by "party". I didn’t eat much after that which was my way of preparing for the party and neither did I dance as the bride’s sister had at least twenty guys lined up to dance with her. So I sat at my table taking a video of the newlyweds dancing and shifted my phone so that I could get the bride’s sister in the video as well.

The door to the restaurant opened and I saw Jacob and Sarah walking hand in hand towards me, I got out of my flashback mode and stood up. They looked like a pair of love birds but that’s what every couple looks like during the first six months, the same couple become oil and water after the honeymoon period is over.
 I had called Jacob at nine in the morning and requested him and Sarah to have lunch with me at the Renaissance Hotel at one. I was too embarrassed to tell him the reason but I guess he might have understood. I drank way too much last night at the party and I remember doing a lot of things that I shouldn’t have, I felt guilty for spoiling their party and had called the couple to apologize and also buy them lunch because I had a feeling that free food was the answer to every problem. I hugged Jacob and shook hands with Sarah when they reached the table and congratulated them once again. Somehow I felt weird because I wasn’t very good at apologizing and both Jacob and Sarah weren’t mad at me or at least they weren’t showing it. They seemed clueless as to why I had asked them to take out time for lunch when I knew they had a flight to Malaysia in a few hours. Their cool behaviour made me think again about my strategy and the dialogues I had practiced in the washroom a few minutes back. So, I decided to get to know what they knew about last night. After the pleasantries I said, “I am really sorry about last night guys, I drank a bit too much and got out of control.” “That’s alright Marv, I had already told Sarah that you can drink a lot” said Jacob. “Yeah Jacob had told me so many stories about your escapades in college so you don’t have to be embarrassed, in fact we were counting on you for some entertainment and you didn’t disappoint . The reason we came here was to thank you for the miracle you performed last night” continued Sarah just from where Jacob had trailed off. Even though I hated when couples did that I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “What miracle?” “You don’t remember do you? This is so Marv” said Jacob turning towards Sarah. “He had a bottle of Jack Daniels on his own so I don’t blame him” said Sarah with a chuckle turning towards Jacob. I hated the fact that they made me feel like an outsider but I had to know what they were talking about so I asked, “What happened last night?” “Do you remember Sarah’s family coming over last night in the middle of the party?” asked Jacob. I thought hard for a while and couldn’t remember seeing Sarah’s family last night so I replied, “No.” “Well they did and we didn’t have any booze left to offer them and you miraculously turned a whole pitcher of water into two pitchers of some kind of cocktail” said Jacob. I was shocked at every word I heard and after a minute I asked, “Did you just say that I turned water into booze?” “Not booze actually it was more of a cocktail” said Jacob. I didn’t know what to say and how to react to this, all I could think about was the story my grandmother had told me as a kid about how Jesus had turned water into wine at a wedding. “There was nothing in the kitchen except some water and ice so I don’t know how you made the cocktail and I don’t think you remember either because you were too drunk to stand after you made the cocktail” said Jacob with a grin on his face. “Wow, I don’t remember any of this but maybe after I eat something I might get a flashback” I said. “We are already running late Marv so why don’t you enjoy a nice meal with Sarah’s sister Isabel who is in the taxi outside. She was really interested in meeting you again after you entertained all of us last night and turned water into booze” said Jacob as he and Sarah got up. I stood up with them but I couldn’t digest the fact that I had turned water into wine like Jesus especially when I was drunk, so I asked them one last question as they were turning to leave, “Do you guys remember how the cocktail tasted?” “It was light red in colour and had grape pulp in it, something like red wine except for the alcohol level because my whole family was on the floor after they drank your cocktail” replied Sarah following it with a loud laugh. “And buddy, this lunch is on us. It’s our way of saying thank you for being the real best man” interjected Jacob. I sat down after wishing them again and waving them goodbye as I saw Jacob and Sarah walking out of the restaurant I thought to myself, “Free food is the answer to all problems.” As I waited for Isabel to walk in through the door I had a flashback of me in the kitchen last night, I was puking in the pitcher and mixed water and ice in it and shook it well to make the reddish cocktail. After that I collapsed on the ground and everything became black.

I shook my head to come out of the flashback mode and opened my eyes to see Isabel opening the door of the restaurant, I called the waiter and said, “Excuse me, one Jack Daniels double large on the rocks please, make it quick.”

Runaway girl

Why oh why do you run away girl,

Don’t you know you are my black pearl?

I thought it was a crush and so I backed off,

How was I supposed to know you were my laugh?

I can’t be trusted and I can’t be loved,

How do I prove that you are my beloved?

All I know is that I don’t like but I love you,

And no matter what you say I am not gonna bid adieu.

Why oh why do you run away girl,

Don’t you know you are my black pearl?

Like the sand you escape from my finger,

When I try a little bit to hold you tighter.

I know life hasn’t been easy for you,

And its fear that comes between me and you.

You fear the future and a new start,

But all I fear is breaking your heart.

Why oh why do you run away girl,

Don’t you know you are my black pearl?

I fell for you the moment I talked to you,

I know the timing is wrong but it’s true.

All I ever wanted was to keep you happy,

Because watching you smile is my new hobby.

Everybody needs love and I am crazy about you,

I guess I needed a broken heart to write something new.

I too have a dream

Scene 1:                                                   

Punjabi Dhaba is jam packed at 7:30pm on a weekday and around 20 people are standing outside the ‘restaurant’ to eat the famous butter chicken and kulcha that was popularized by Shera Singh 10 years ago. A frail boy walks to a table and places a plate of kulchas.

Customer: Aye boy! These kulchas are not hot. Get a new set.

Boy: Sir I just now made them, it has to be hot.

Customer: So you are saying that I am lying? Oye Shera paaji!

Shera Singh the owner of the dhaba came running to the table.

Shera: What happened ji? Is everything all right?

Customer: What all right ji, this boy is calling me liar. I told him to heat the kulchas and he said he won’t do it.

Boy: I never said I won’t do it I just said….

He felt a sharp pain on his left cheek before he could complete the sentence.

Shera: I am sorry ji, I will heat these kulchas myself and get them for you, in the meantime you enjoy your meal.

Shera pulls the boy to the kitchen.

Scene 2:

Shera slaps the boy once more.

Shera: Are you mad? One night I tell you to serve the kulchas and you get into a fight with the customer!

Boy: I made the kulchas just now! How could it become cold by the time it reached the table?

BAM!!! Another slap, another red cheek this time the right one and a drop of tear rolling down the boy’s eye.

Shera: Now don’t start crying otherwise the kulchas will become salty.

Shera leaves the kitchen.

Boy: I can do any work but I just hate making kulchas, I always burn my hand.

Just then he sees a knife which was used to cut the vegetables and an idea begins to form in his 10 year old mind. He picks up the knife and cuts his palm slightly but hard enough to make it bleed. He starts yelling at the top of voice to get some attention from the customers. Shera Singh runs into the kitchen.

Shera: What happened?

Boy: My hand got cut accidently (in pain).

Shera: How could you cut it so deep accidently? (Looking at the wound)

Boy: I don’t know when it happened, I just felt some wetness in my palm and when I looked I saw this. (Taking his palm closer to Shera)

Shera: Just keep your hand away from me and let me make the kulchas, you go to your room and wait for me to come. Tonight you will learn how to be careful in the kitchen.

The boy went to his room happily even though he knew his joy will be short-lived.

Scene 3

After that night the boy cut his palm at the same spot almost every day to keep his wound fresh.

After a few days

Shera: Why is your wound not healing? I have a feeling that you are doing this to yourself so that you don’t have to work.

Boy: You know what! I am. I am doing this to myself because I don’t like working here.

Shera: You don’t like working here? You break my heart son. I wanted you to run this dhaba after me but I guess you have other important things to do. Let me guess, you want to go to school?

Boy: Yes, I do.

Shera: You want to become a doctor?

Boy: No, I want to become a writer.

Shera: A writer! Yes, of course. I don’t know with what I will have to hit you to set your mind straight, but I won’t give up on you. I fed you, I gave you clothes, I gave you a new life and this is how you repay me?

Shera removed his belt and proceeded towards the boy.

Shera: Let’s see what you want to become after this session is over.

Shera starts hitting him with the belt. The boy starts wailing in pain as the belt rips his skin and he starts moving backwards, he suddenly gets up and starts running towards the entrance of the dhaba and collides with one of the customers.

Boy: Sorry sir.

Customer: What is happening beta? Is your father hitting you?

Boy: He is not my father. I just work for him.

Customer: Beta I am a police officer, is there something you want to tell me.

Boy: Sir, please rescue me. This man hits me every day and makes me do all the work in the dhaba and doesn’t even pay me.

Shera: Sir, don’t mind what he says, he is just the waiter. What would you like to have sir?

Customer: Nothing. I am going to make a call now.

Scene 4

A journalist is yelling into the camera

Journalist: A 10 year boy was being mercilessly beaten up by the owner of this famous north Indian dhaba in Coimbatore. The boy was also made to do all the work in the dhaba. The boy is now in the general hospital and the owner Mr.Shera Singh is in police custody. With cameraman Sudesh Gupta for NDTV this is Asha Mehra.

Scene 5

In the general hospital

Doctor: Move this patient to the operation theatre.

Nurse: Okay doctor.

Boy: What is happening doctor?

Doctor: Nothing beta, only a small operation.

Nurse: (Whispering) why don’t you tell him?

Doctor:  (whispering) how can I tell him that I am amputating his hand? He wants to become a writer, it will break his heart. If I don’t do this he will die. We just have to hope that he can start going to school and become whatever wants to become using his left arm.

Nurse: I don’t know how he got that wound on his palm. The owner in his confession said that he never used a knife.

Doctor: It has to be him who else would do it. But I don’t think even he knew that the knife was rusted.

       

Contract

A middle-aged man was running in an isolated housing colony.  His bloodstained lungi was falling off and his breathlessness was echoing through the street. He knew his end was near but didn’t want to give up yet. He was constantly looking back to get a good look at his attackers, when he felt something hard hit him in the stomach. He fell to the ground without any resistance and coughed out blood. He saw the face; the same face that had haunted him for days was in front of him. As he lay motionless on the ground, his attacker asked, “Do you know the difference between men and women?” The man on the ground was too weak and tired to answer, so he just shook his head. “Men don’t like getting f….”

Sreedharan was in a hurry to get out of his house, as his boss had summoned him.“Where are you going?” asked his wife. “Have to go to the office” he replied. “But today is a Sunday” said his wife, as a matter of fact. “I know baba, but the boss is counting on me to finish some pending work” said Sreedharan. “Then would you buy the groceries on your way home?” asked his wife. “Okay, I will, just make a list and give it to me” replied Sreedharan. As soon as his wife left the room, he took out his gun from the drawer and hid it under his shirt. His wife came back with a piece of paper in her hand as Sreedharan was closing his drawer, he placed the paper in his shirt pocket and walked out of his house and got into his car.

Sreedharan was stopped at the towering gate that protected the mansion inside. A guard knocked on the tinted window of Sreedharan’s car. When Sreedharan lowered his window the guard bowed a little and said, “Namaskaram saar.” The gate was opened and Sreedharan drove his car to the entrance of the mansion. He saw Chacko sitting at the door looking tired and disheveled. Sreedharan got out of his vehicle and walked over to Chacko and touched his feet before sitting next to him. “What happened?” asked Sreedharan. Chacko looked at him with his red eyes and said, “PK left the party.” “What do you mean left the party? Were you not going to give him the ticket during the next elections?” asked Sreedharan. “Yes, we were. But he wanted to contest election this time. He knows he is the most popular man in Kannur and he doesn’t need our party to win. He joined the CPI (M).” replied Chacko. Sreedharan slid back into his chair, letting out a sigh of frustration. Everything that could go wrong before the elections had gone wrong and now the only hope that was left for his boss’ party to win the elections had also been ruined. They were counting on PK’s support to win the elections. “What do you want me to do?” asked Sreedharan. Chacko didn’t say anything; instead he just lay back in his chair. After a while, Chacko replied, “Call the boys.” In about 10 minutes, a Scorpio, driven by Sreedharan, was heading towards Fort Road where PK was campaigning. He had 10 of Chacko’s men with him whom Chacko called ‘boys’. Chacko had instructed them about the plan of action. Sreedharan was not a goon like the others with him in the car; he was just the brain behind all the “dirty work” of the party like quotation, murder, kidnapping etc. He saw himself as the leader of the goons but not a goon himself. After driving in silence for some time Sreedharan saw a fleet of white Ambassadors at some distance waiting at the traffic signal. Sreedharan explained the plan once more to the ‘boys’ and started driving again.

A Scorpio slid in front of the fleet of white Ambassadors and open fired at them through the windows of the Scorpio. The ‘boys’ got out of the Scorpio and continued shooting. A man dressed in white got out of the fourth car in the line and started running. Sreedharan saw him running off into a small street beside the main road and decided to follow him because he knew it was PK. PK was running in an isolated housing colony, his bloodstained lungi was falling off and his breathlessness was echoing through the street. He knew his end was near but didn’t want to give up yet. He was constantly looking back to get a good look at his attackers, when he felt something hard hit him in the stomach. He fell to the ground without any resistance and coughed out blood. He saw the face; the same face that had haunted him for days was in front of him. As he lay motionless on the ground, his attacker asked, “Do you know the difference between men and women?” The man on the ground was too weak and tired to answer, so he just shook his head. “Men don’t like getting fucked” said Sreedharan with a gun pointed at him. A trigger was pressed and a loud gunshot was heard.  Sreedharan slumped to the ground as the police came running accompanied by Chacko. The constables picked up PK from the ground who was critically injured in the firing earlier. “Now do you understand why I told you to remain in our party?” asked Chacko with his eyes moist with glycerin. “CPI (M) was trying to get you killed to show us in poor light and get sympathy votes and this was the goon they hired”, he continued. “I thought he worked for you” said PK. “Everyone has a price PK”, said Chacko. “Learn politics first then you can become a minister” continued Chacko as PK started coughing out more blood as he was lifted and placed in the ambulance. Chacko waited for the ambulance to speed away after which he took out some money from his pocket and placed it on Sreedharan’s dead body and said, “I am a man of my word", saying so he walked to his car and phoned the "boys".

Last Day

The sun is rising through the black sky,

And so is the flame from the ground.

The earth is home to people, who want to die

 But they can’t because they are bound.

People explode with shouts and cries

Still nobody pays attention,

They open their mouths to utter lies

And there is nobody to show compassion.

The hot sun throws light on the wounded

And the night breeze is long gone,

The streets are overcrowded

with the bones of the unborn.

The sun shines with full intensity

and burns the soul of the wicked.

What is left is a burnt city,

And empty cars with parking ticket.

Every home is filled with people,

watching the television like a panel.

They bite their nails and their eyes twinkle,

when they see the same person on every channel.

Some want to know his name and some his position,

And some want to know his place of birth.

They know but have not yet taken a decision,

But they know he is the king of the earth.

An army of beautiful fairies erupt from the sky,

Singing and shouting in other tongues.

They tear the sun and through it they fly

to save the lowest of the rogues.

The master of the fairies comes on the ground

and invites the people on his chariot.

 Television has got the people bound,

And they call him Judas Iscariot.

The master welcomes the wounded and weary,

Who lie on the ground in their own blood.

The people come but the master becomes fiery,

He asks, “Where are the others I raised from this mud?”

 The people shift their gaze and remain mum,

As the master looks upwards, sorry for the promise he kept.

Why do you forsake me? Can’t with me you come?

 A tear trickled down his face and that day he wept. 

Alone

I walk on a deserted path in the middle of a desert,

walking aimlessly in search for water.

I see the shadows of skirts and shirt,

but I can’t see those who matter.

Recognition is to me what water is to the mouth,

I can’t hear the echo of my last applause.

I think I lost my voice, I can’t even shout.

I can still think but my mind is full of chaos.

I live aimlessly, doing what is told.

I feel my spine but feel like a spineless wreck.

I walk in a desert but I still feel cold,

I work so hard, yet don’t have a cheque.

Heat is the pressure surrounding me,

And cactus is the words of my folks.

I smile and laugh to appear full of glee,

but my soul is crushed by your mocks.

The light is vanishing as the sun goes down,

I lose all hope and hear the scorpions crawl.

In the darkest night I wait for my heart to moan,

Is when a smoke from the ground comes up in a ball,

It takes me high into the clouds with my voice on fire,

The heat inside me melts the cold outside,

I see my wishes come true and so do my heart’s desire,

my mind shifts phases like a high tide.

I spent all night twisting and turning,

thinking of the world beyond.

The sun rose in my face, early in the morning,

to show me water in a pond.

I realized the night was a dream,

so I ran faster than my cologne,

to the water that was a mirage of steam.

I screamed and shouted at myself, because I was all alone.

War

The nation was at war with the enemy beside,

and the year was nineteen ninety-nine.

He rushed out of his home, keeping his wife aside.

“Oh sprint not my beloved for you are all mine,

Do not leave me today, you can go tonight”, said his wife.

“Worry not my darling, nothing will happen,

I will protect my country and not play with my life.”

He walked away and didn’t turn to see his wife’s cheeks dampen.

The war began with all its might,

and bodies were stored up in a heap.

He missed his lovely wife and wrote her letters at night,

but during the day he carried supplies in his jeep.

The lonely woman was scared to jitters,

as she was looked upon by all with lustful eyes.

Her day was made when she received her husband’s letters,

but when a man looked at her she ran away like mice.

She slowly began trusting in her own beauty,

and started to play the harlot because of her fame.

When she missed him, her eyes became misty,

but she couldn’t stop her evil ways, as she loved the game.

She soon became an adulterous wife,

and enjoyed it as she saw her body burn.

She continued to tiptoe on the edge of a knife,

but realized her folly before she saw him return.

He was taken aback by her actions,

his mind was shattered just like his body.

“Why do you do this my love, why this sudden diffraction?

You have lost your beauty and all you are now is gaudy.”

She said, “You promised you will be with me forever and ever,

please don’t go away, I can’t bear another war.”

“I never stopped loving you, and I will forever,

you will be my first love, but I am not in love anymore.”