The Devil Reincarnated

The pistol was held on to her face at point blank.

Her eyes met the hazel eyes of a seeming-to-be young man who was covering his face with a mask. The eyes had no sense of guilt in them.

He could see her eyes yearn for mercy. The eyes clearly had fear shadowed with elements of terror in them.

He signaled his brain to send an impulse to his finger to pull the trigger. The brain wave surge made his finger move, that lead to a heinous crime.

The fraction of a second and it was all over. The finger movement, a shot on her forehead and the shriek from the poor lady.

The soul was fighting its way out from the body which was all drenched in blood. Within a few seconds, the pain struck body transited itself into the lifeless state. 

She was dead. A moment of immense pain and she bid farewell to the ruthless world for a journey into the world of peace.

The people who had crowded after hearing the gunshot alerted 911. The man showed no signs of remorse and stood still next to the body. As soon as the police arrived, he surrendered himself without the slightest hesitation. 

His hands were bound to the back and was thrown face first to the backseat of the police car. The police ripped off his mask.  

He was no more older than the boy next door who was always happy to run errands for your aunt in your absence.

His eyes were lifeless and stone like. He stood there, without the slightest remorse of the crime he had committed.

The police was busy answering to the public and the media.

He sensed a chance and made a dash out of the door. The chief ordered his men not to chase in haste.

Instead, he drew out his Smith & Wesson Model 500 from the holster and shot him. 

The aim was perfect. The bullet entered the skull exactly at the same point where it made an exit from  the lady’s head.

He collapsed into a lifeless lump of human flesh. With a small grin, the chief walked back to his car. The sergeant opened the door for him with a smile. 

                                        Prayers to the departed souls of the Sandy Hook incident

The Life of a Lone Mother

The little ones were struggling to get on to their feet. They were exerting the maximum and pushing themselves hard to stand up. Sometimes they were victorious, sometimes they just rolled down. But they did not give up their fight, the fight with the world outside.

The lush green grass was their playground. Like the hard and fast rule of acclimatization with nature, the four little pups were adapting themselves from the comfort of their mother’s womb to the harsh world outside.

Standing almost 50 feet away was their mother, a while colored female mongrel was standing on the aisle of the walkway waiting for people to throw down bits and pieces of random food articles, out of mercy.

Her eyes had the emotion of helplessness of a street dog. She looked into the eye of every passerby to spare her some sympathy.

Even though while surveying each person with her hazel eyes, her eyes often stole a glance to her little ones.

After gobbling down a couple of bread pieces, she ran towards the pups which made squeals of delight on seeing their mother.

I was just a mere spectator who watched it in wonder , the life and affection of a mother.

It made me think of the plight of a single human mother who has to surmount the daunting roles of a working woman and a doting mother. If she compromises on the former, she and her kids will suffer if the alimony is not huge enough (divorcee) or will become difficult to make ends meet (if husband is deceased/ family not supportive).
Or if she compromises on the latter, the spirit of motherhood burning within every woman would question the integrity of being a mother.

Rekindling this thought provoking question in my mind, I paced my steps back with a salute to my mom and all loving mothers on planet earth.

An Engineer’s Love Letter

Well, speaking about love, there is no discrepancy between any mortal alive. Its all the same. The same old emotion flows out, like an uncontrolled gush of water with no check on its flow.

People sometimes judge it  as ‘an intense feeling with deep affection’ viz-a-viz ‘misunderstanding between 2 people’, so on and so forth.

 It is hard to find a person who has not fallen in love. It is even harder to get back the love. 

Lucky are those who get it back, in quantity and quality higher than what you initially give.

It seems that no one ever has questioned the source from which this emotion arose. 

It is seemingly possible to believe that it was there from the day when Adam and Eve plucked the forbidden fruit.

From the day that the 1st pair of coelacanth arose from water and with multitudes of rounds of evolution and still today, being the product of a 4 billion year evolutionary process, love still is the same feeling for us.

It is still there and will always continue to do so.

Our protagonist is an engineer in love.

And here it goes…..

Dear ******,

              On the day we first met the ‘not-knowing-you’ emotion underwent a 180 degree phase shift to a you-are-the-one-for-me emotion.

Our further meetings triggered signals in my heart and amplified my feelings for you. The resistance that I had towards love was bypassed by your presence.

My heart had formed a set-up of a decoupling capacitor where all external interference from friends was bypassed and thrown down the drain.

In short, I felt that we are like 2 plates of a parallel plate capacitor with the whole world around us serving as a dielectric material.

Remember the day you replied positively to my love, the electric impulse that went up my heart was enough to charge a defibrillator to provide a shock strong enough to cure  the maximum extent of damage ever known to mankind. Thank God that I didn’t have to use it.

Every time I see you talk with someone, it makes my blood boil with rage. All the hate gets multiplexed and produces a single strong signal, so strong for him to withstand. 
Thankfully, the output didn’t have to be produced as his sensory circuits sensed some interference from nearby and he quickly withdrew from the scene.
He must have understood no equalizer in the world would have been able to smoothen out this heavily powerful noise waves.

Let me assure you that the signal my heart produces has the same strong intensity, amplitude and frequency. Let me also tell you that my heart is a distortion-less circuit and will continue to produce the same output forever, without fatigue.

Till we meet next time, you shall remain to be in my wavelength.



The Morning of the War

The rucksack hanging down on a side
In it lies all the supplies for sustenance
Guns loosely hanging on the other
Jumping and jiving with the rhythm of the boot
For it doesn’t know its counts of sin
Both balances the shoulders and
The line between life and death
We seek out to the path of justice
Thumping down the barracks
Out the meadows and lakes
Life is taking the toil on him
For his hands smells of blood
And the mind shivers of blood-curdling wails of helpless souls 
that left their dilapidated embodiment to attain the abode of peace
and of the heart touching wails of weeping homes
that lost their beloved love
The tremor of the consequences shatters the heart
The valor of a man braves it well
For he who knows the dharma of war,
It is nothing but, do or perish 
Going to the battlefield is a task
Ahead lies misery and grief
but the end of the path is glory and laurels
Seeking the man and his kith and kin
Girding up his loins and
keeping his mind set and ready 
The moment of war
that seeks not more, but the whole of you
Flee out of sight, so you will
lose out what is all you pride
Fight the way out, 
The road to glory is not that all
All what matters for him is 
his dignity upheld

The Man with the Golden Boot

The cacophony of the whistle rocked my eardrum as the men in black and red started passing the ball. 

Within no time, a short but well built young man took charge and he had the reigns of the game in his hand.

It was hardly 30 seconds since the game had begun when he shot a direct goal from the halfway line. 

The crowd erupted with joy and exuberant exhilaration was on the air. Even the opposition was their feet, clapping for the amazing young man.

He ran around the field (a bit of exaggeration, well, the game was played in the basketball court) with his arms held high. After a small tilt of his head upward to thank the Almighty, he began eyeing for the ball. 

The ball’s prayer to stay away from his hard hitting leg seemed unanswered as the sturdy leg thrust copious amounts of pressure to direct the ball to the goalpost yet again.

The man in black was doing it great for the men in black.

The timer was showing less than 180 seconds and the score was already 2-nil.

The men in red were running helter skelter just to block the man from getting the ball dribbling.

Soon, the nets felt the power of his boot again. The ball flew in with a rage enough to tear apart the net and the score board now showed 3-nil.

He was wreaking havoc in the enemy lines. He would appear in front of the ball at dubious points of time. 

Once the ball was in his clutches, the opposition members had to sweat it out really to get their hands (legs, yeah, of course) on the ball. 

Running up to meet the swiftness of his legs was tiring for all the men, including his own team playing there.

He led them to a glorious win.

The scoreboard was showing 4-1 at the end of the game with 3 massive goals under his belt and a clean pass that led to another beauty.

He is highly regarded as an unparalleled player amongst his peers. Classy stylish gentleman, he is. With the qualities for a manager and the agility of a footballer, let us wish him a wonderful journey ahead.

The Fight to Glory

The day had dawned and slowly was in the progress of reaching the dusk. Earth was still on its non-stop duty of rotating on its axis, while it slowly made its way around the sun. 

Dusk approached. Slowly and steadily, tints of black and hues of red were marching on to the ground that was supposed to be the venue of the much anticipated event.

The event was borne in the hearts of many for many a days. The iron will and sheer dedication was making a dream into reality.

Soon the venue turned out to be a sea of unprecedented joy and happiness . The colors that they had adorned to demonstrate their support was exemplifying the motive.

The basketball court was indeed speckled with black and red.

By the time, the dignitaries declared the event open, the gang of friends had parted ways to form coteries with only one goal- to lay their hands on the trophy that lay glistening on the table.

The speckled color combination moved to form multitudes of majestic red and glorious black to the left and right of the director duo with the other distinguished guests. 

The event or rather the battle of the brawns, brains and wits was declared open with ear deafening ovation.

The masses split into two energy packed huddles, showing off the diversity from within a united closely knit class. The air was humid with the exhilaration of the young managers-to-be as the ball kicked off for the first event- FOOTBALL.

Thus began the games. Friends taking on friends. Men of valor taking on men of might. Women of grace taking on women that outshine.

Friends to foes, 
Forever shall never remain the enmity
But lies within, the fire to cherish and
The glory to redeem
What we strive for 
Is to be unbeaten
We will remain champions
Despite the results that often takes sides
Never do we createth the divide
So do remain as friends
Forever one, forever strong
The spirit of the game burning within

Macroeconomic Distress

Thud Thud! 
Thud Thud!

Her heartbeats moved on from the usual lupp-dupp to a bombarding tone. Her heartbeat was in fact the only sound in the huge amphitheater classroom when I was asked a question by the stern looking professor. 
To buy some time, I asked for the mic to answer. In the mean time, my brain ran helter skelter to create some cock and bull story to pacify the blood thirsty like vengeance he had on the class. 
By the time the mic reached, I could hear my poor neighbor making frantic attempts to swallow spitballs and the breath was becoming paler. 
Was she on the verge of a nervous breakdown?
My heart had taken all the pains of getting higher up to my Adam’s apple. With great difficulty, the vocal cords pushed out a weak gush of air and my voice came out as if my larynx had forgotten to fine tune it. But yes, I did deserve a pat on my back for letting out some amount of language come out of me. 
After my answer, I saw a pale looking lady smiling at me. The tension had drained all the color on her cheeks and she resembled a living corpse of what she was 15 minutes earlier.
An exhilarated exhalation of elation followed as she confirmed that the professor stopped asking questions and turned on to discuss ways of how world would turn to be an economically safe place to be in. 

I think all seats should get an attached spygmomanometer that monitors the real time BP continuously. The meter is sure of getting dizzy on seeing the readings.

He was letting hell break loose. Loading us with assignments and unscrupulous deadlines, he was making life miserable in all possible ways.
It seemed the whole of the trimester was earmarked for just one subject and I seriously doubt even by continuously burning midnight oil, there was no chance of you getting anywhere near he wanted you to be or anywhere near the other subjects.
But, I seriously doubt. Was he in a way trying to make us learn economics? Was he gearing us up for what the ruthless merciless world had to offer?
Instilling fear and building a foundation on it to make us know the economy, the way it is and the way it ought to be, was he on the right track?
Only God knows!! But in this case, only he knows!!!

Fingers crossed!!!

Hamari Rastriya Basha!!!!

The laughter around me made me realize that I, too should at least smile.
The professor cracked a ‘wise’ joke and all my classmates were laughing their lungs (a**) out.
Just to join the company, I let out a sigh and forced my lips to curl to a absurd grin.
For the professor to understand that at least 1 sentence in the last 60 minutes had gained access to a 100% efficient response from the class, I had to join the party. 
I looked around as the people around me were trying hard to control the fits of laughter. 
The sight around me was that people were draining out the streams of joyous tears that left salty marks on their cheeks.
Now it was my turn to put up an artificial but authentic looking smile. 

The reason of me being left out was not that I was sleeping.  
I was sitting in the second row and for the very first time in almost a month, I was on the winning side in the battle with my eyes that were forcing to close to take me to the distant land of dreams.
The reason was simple: my lack of knowledge in Hamari Rastriya Basha, Hindi.
I leaned to the chap sitting next to me to translate the joke.
Reported speech never carries the zeal and vigor of active speech.
The joke just brushed through my senses, only able to initiate a small curve of my lips and failing to reveal the dimples hidden amidst the flabs of fat.  

Just the very moment, the professor started the monotone balderdash and the class was left to reel into the world where they would best fit in.

I never knew Hindi would play an important in my life. 
Accha, Teek Hai, Main Zaroor Hindi Sikhunga!!! 
Never mind.

The Love Aftermath

Have you ever fallen in love?

Or ever felt that you wanted to fall in love?

If its a ‘Yes’ to any of these questions, have you ever thought of its aftermath, the pros and cons of loving?

The girl whom you love, walks, talks or even smiles at another boy, ( Man, u gotta be kidding) well, I am not. Cross ur heart, you’ll feel like thrashing him up, bullying him or even drowing him in the Arabian ocean (Sea, i know it, alright). Maybe, he is an angel at heart , but mind you, you are never going to forgive him, luring your heart out of the body’s reach . For gals, if the guy who stole your heart is doing the same, its all swollen eyes and damp cheeks.

Furthermore, is there something called true love? Or is just the lust or infatuation?
When you say ‘ I love you’ to a gal, do you really mean it? Or is it just for the sake of having fun? And my dear gals, please mean it when you do the same. Don’t be mean.

The heart says to approach any girl just because of the fact that a look from her gives you butterflies in your stomach.
The brain warns you that butterflies will fly away, but the lump of sorrow will remain forever.

Love often tends to go the heart’s way.
Mind you, being emotional rather than being rational will be one heavy price to pay for.

And if your response to me is ‘Mind your business, fatty. I know how I am and she’ll come to me if my love is true’, my reply will just be a wry sly smile.


A part of my life was throwing doldrums on me with its dishevelled look that wanted me to back off the war that I waged with it. Yet another part wanted to fight, resurrect from the ashes of the sins of the past and wage a war against the evil me. The good part in me wanted to triumph and the bad me wanted to slog and dint want me to recuperate from the point where I was clinging on.

To soothe the ailing mind, I really wanted a break. The short but sweet vacation really seemed to serve the purpose. Munching on goodies despite having a very ‘petite’ frame, was just the right thing to do inside the theatre especially you have got nothing better to do than watching an awesomely boring movie. The journey, be it in the rickety rackety old bus that swayed last bus riders like in a water bike or in the air conditioned car that provided seating from which metal and cushioned parts poked into the you-know-where are all parts in life worth relishing when you get screwed by profs from all sides. The cold air from the AC vents and light music playing from the car music system had done its job.

A journey makes you learn things. Wandering in the city, fascinated by the lights and its grandeur, my eyes rested on the real India. The revelation of what the life of people were, those living in absolute poverty and in conditions unimaginable to us who leads a life devoid of peripheral miseries.

The quote of Gandhiji ‘India lives in her villages’ felt a bit out of context here. The real Indian is what we see in the urban slums. An evident eye-opener for me, among others who are yet to understand how fortunate you are and yet cribbing on what you do not have. Thank Him and count your blessings.

Well, everything happens for a cause. Causes that can make you work it out for an effect.