Book review- Battle for Bittora.

I have been a reader for most of my life. The recent boom in Indian English writing has made me very happy and I am one of the biggest fans of Indian English writing. It is indeed remarkable that India has produced so many writers who choose English as a medium of expression. But I have always felt, however good Indian writers are, a front where they have lagged behind is humour. Barring an occasional Jug Suraya, no one has really explored this particular genre well enough. When I started reading Battle for Bittora , I was expecting a nice breezy read with maybe a few startling insights into the rough and tumble world of electoral politics, but what took me by surprise was the inherent thread of subtle ( and at times, wicked) humour  running throughout the book.  Maybe the title should have alerted me to the author’s irrepressible sense of humour (Bittora in Hindi means a heap of cow dung). And that is the USP of this wonderful story of childhood friends who find themselves on opposite sides of an election.

Sarojini Pandey (Jinni) a twenty-five year old animator suddenly finds herself the candidate for parliamentary elections, thrust on the center stage by her grandmother, an aging but seasoned politician. Then we find out her opponent in the election is none other than Zain Altaf Khan (Zak), a close friend from her growing up days. The two meet after a long time and sparks fly when they discover that they are still hugely attracted to each other. The story moves forward in the dust and grime of Pavit Pradesh where the two engage in a no holds barred electoral battle as the candidates for Pragati Party (PP) and Indian Janta Party (IJP). (There are no prizes for seeing through the thinly disguised allusions to real political parties in present day India.) The curiosity about the eventual outcome eggs the reader on. Who will win? Jinni or Zak? And will they eventually succumb to the mutual attraction they feel despite being on different side of the great political divide? No, I am not going to spill the beans. You will have to read the book to find out.

And the book is good; in fact, very good. The characters are well etched and the pace nice. Sustaining the reader’s interest through-out in a 423 page narrative is no mean feat. Yes, it has a few weaknesses, the main one being that the author looks at the political process through rose tinted glasses. The truth on the ground is far more crude and cruel. But then, the book it has its strengths as well. I have already told you that I loved the inherent sense of fun and the wicked humour.  I also liked the fact that the book is unabashedly and unapologetically Indian.   It has been written for the Indian reader with no footnotes to explain the Hindi words / Indian perspectives that creep in to (prospective?) foreign readers.  (How many of them read our books anyway?)

I will rate this book as 3.5 /5. If you want to order a copy on line please click here .

The best of Satyajit Ray- published by Penguin

I am writing this review with the express motive of highlighting a relative unknown facet of the versatile genius, Satyajit Ray. Well known as a brilliant movie maker, he was honoured by an Oscar for lifetime achievement and a Bharat Ratna in 1992. But apart from this, he was a brilliant writer who excelled in writing for children. His stories (written originally in Bangla), though primarily written for children, have a huge following in adults, who discovered subtle shades and hidden messages in them. In addition to many short stories about super sleuth Feluda (thirty five) and super scientist Professor Shonku (forty), he wrote some seventy five short stories, mostly about the super-natural and the unexpected.

And this book contains twenty one of those, some translated from original Bangla by the master himself and the rest by Gopa Majumdar. The short stories are a rare blend of humour, intrigue, supernatural, science fiction and the unexpected. In fact, when I hark back to my childhood, when I grew up reading these stories in Bangla, I realize that it was my first taste of the exotic. And some thirty years later, when I read the translated version, I found that their charm has only increased over time.  The stories will take you to a world that has an undying appeal and the twists in each and every story will leave you breathless. Ray’s world has ghosts (both friendly and malignant), aliens in unexpected shapes, carnivorous plants and extinct animals making an appearance in everyday life. There are brilliant descriptions, vivid passages blending with a rare economy of words. The first twenty stories are those which are popularly classified as Ray’s children stories and the last one Pikoo’s Diary was specifically written by Ray for adults. It is perhaps a very fitting end to this extraordinary book. (Incidentally, it was made into a tele-film by Ray in 1981)

The book has been published by Penguin and I will recommend it to each and every booklover. 

The unfulfilled promise...........

Now there was this kingfisher girl

Who had the country all in a whirl.

By promising to strut her stuff

And running around in the buff

If on the field our team did swirl.

Hey Poonam, this ain't fair,

Your assets you did not bare

We all think it is pretty mean

That you were nowhere to be seen.

And vanished after losing the dare.

The kingfisher  gal is pretty cool

First, she make the nation drool.

In anticipation, we moan and sigh

She vanishes without even a bye

While gleefully shouting APRIL FOOL

Cocktail - short stories by Vikram Karve

First and foremost, three cheers for APK Publishers for publishing a book of short stories. Almost everybody in the publishing industry (from publishers to agents to writers) assure me that short stories do not sell unless from a celebrity pen and are therefore unpublishable.  It is heartening to see that Prashant Karhade of APK does not subscribe to this philosophy.

Now coming to Vikram Karve, a familiar name to those who have been following his blogs on Sulekha.com, this is his first collection of short stories. He writes about today’s urban lifestyle, about love (and lack of it), life, relationships, desires (both fulfilled and unfulfilled), yearning and boredom. His characters are real life and well etched. The twenty seven stories traverse familiar ground, invoking in the reader feelings as diverse as joy, pathos and at times amusement. But there is a problem. After a while, the emotions get repetitive. Most of the heroes are bearded, he-man, master mariner types;  the women are sexy and attractive (usually dressed in tight fitting pink t-shirts tucked into hip hugging jeans) and certain phrases(Drying a divorcee’s tears is one of the most dangerous pastimes known to a man) and situations appear multiple times. That does not mean that the book is not an enjoyable read. I loved some of the stories.Lovedale touched my heart, Parting Gift is both sad and funny, Rendezvous at sunrise is different, A lazy hot afternoon in Mumbai is exquisite, Deccan Queen ingenious, Freedom is honest and Chilled beer is well, chilling. Some stories do not work that well (Every dog has his day is corny,Electrophoresis is plain silly) but none of them can be called bad.

Karve writes well and did surprise me with a few words I had not heard /read before (must get myself a good dictionary, the one in Microsoft Word has serious limitations). Overall, a good attempt and a must read for short story buffs. (My rating 3/5)

To buy the book online, please click here.

BOREDOM

Boredom is a feeling / emotion/ expression/ impression/ sentiment/  mood peculiar to humans. We have phrases like midlife crisis/ quarter life crisis/ bored housewife/ its lonely at the top/ existentialist dilemma, all related to this peculiar emotion. And only humans get bored.  Plants, animals, spirits and even the Gods never get bored. Just imagine a tree getting bored (it well might if it was human, after all it remains rooted to the same spot year after year.) Or an amoeba getting bored of binary fission or a dog or a horse or a tiger saying, “Dude, it’s so boring! Nothing is happening in my life!”

Ever heard of a bored ghost?? Or the creator getting bored with this predictably crazy world?? No! The exclusive lease on the word boredom has been taken by humans. Not only that, we humans coined many words to describe the same feeling. Bored with boredom? Take your pick from tedium, monotony, dullness, ennui, worldly weariness and tediousness.

We are bored with success and failure, work and studies, love and hate, play and toil, penury and wealth, sobriety and intoxication; in fact, we get bored of every conceivable situation.  While this hunger for variety/ change in humans is responsible for every scientific and technological advance; this is also responsible for a major chunk of problems in an individual’s life.

And is there a solution to the vexing problem of monotony? I would say the answer lies with us. The solution is to have a positive attitude. The scepter of boredom can be taken head-on only if individuals try to live life being as creative and as productive as possible. This can be done if we work hard, play harder, develop hobbies, make good friends and treasure our family. What do you say?

Super moon

Yesterday was supposed to be a Super moon day, when the moon would appear to be bigger, brighter and clearer. The romantics flooded the social network sites with moonlit night songs from you tube, the 24 hour news channels had a great time with doomsday predictions, the photographers waited with bated breaths, telephoto lenses and digital cameras while most of the world was, well, indifferent. It was just another night, wasn't it!

The weather gods decided to play spoilsport and there were scattered clouds since afternoon. And when night came, the clouds persisted making it look more like a no moon night. The moon did appear for a few minutes in its full splendour but it appeared like any other full moon day. Looked the same like last month and the month before that. Now this is not to deride the beauty of a full moon night or its charm but the hype about Super moon turned out be  be just hype.

I observed that almost everyone on the street was taking photos of the moon with mobile cameras which is a bit like trying to slay a tiger by shooting at it with a pea shooter. I am sure the images that eventually emerge from them would resemble those of a scooter headlight.

Anyway, here are two photograph of yesterday's full moon for you ( and they have not been taken by a mobile camera).

The other side

My contribution to Chicken Soup for the Indian Doctor's soul -  (published by Westland.) Link to the  book

 I was a robust young man of thirty two years and doing well in life. My practice as a pediatrician was well established, I had just brought my first car and life was good. I had worked pretty hard to achieve my standing as one of the better doctors of my town. I worked on Sundays and holidays, never turned down an emergency and worked unearthly hours. I did not even slow down when fatigued or sick. I simply popped a painkiller and carried on.

I still remember that fateful morning very clearly. I woke up at 4.00 AM with severe pain in my neck. I was slightly disoriented with sleep and the pain was unbearable. I called up a fellow physician and asked for advice.

“If the pain is unbearable, take an analgesic. I’ll send over a nurse to give you the injection and we’ll get you investigated in the morning.” He advised.

The nurse came and gave me the jab. After a few minutes I felt a sudden weakness of my right hand. I was half asleep by then as the pain had subsided just a bit. I just decided to go back to sleep with the hope that I would be fine when I woke up.

When I woke up some two hours later, I realised that my right hand and leg were completelyparalysed and I could not move them. Now that triggered off a major alarm and a lot of doctor friends descended, examined me and tried to reach a diagnosis. On failing to reach a consensus, they decided that I would be better off in an institution. So I was bundled in a wheelchair and we caught the next train to New Delhi.

We reached in the evening and made our way to G B Pant Hospital. As we reached late, none of the consultants were available. However, the resident on duty admitted me and assigned me a bed in the general ward as there was a month long waiting list for private rooms. (Those were the days before the five star private healthcare establishments and health insurance had flooded the country)

I had virtually grown up in those surroundings as most of my life had been spent working in government hospitals; first as a student, then a trainee and later a consultant but for the first time in my life, I found myself on the other side of the divide. The ward was dirty, the toilets stinky, and all the beds were occupied by patients in even worse condition than me. That was the longest night of my life. I could not sleep as the pain in my neck had returned with a vengeance. I did not know whether I would ever be able to stand or walk again in my life. Frightening visions of dreadful diseases like cancer, nerve degeneration and other unknown entities kept playing in my minds eye. I realised that the uncertainty of the diagnosis was playing on my mind. 

The night of misery passed (they always do) and the morning brought hope in form of Dr. A. K. Singh, the professor of Neurosurgery. The whole day was taken up by extensive investigations he ordered, and evening found me in his office on a wheelchair.

“Vivek, I have studied your case in detail, and frankly, it is confusing. Your paralysis is due to a lesion in the neck. The MRI has revealed a fluid collection in the cervical spine which is pressing on the spinal cord. The radiologist suggests a possibility of tuberculosis but I am not convinced. We have two options; we either put you on anti-tubercular drugs empirically or open up your spine to see what the problem is.  If required, we may even take a biopsy during the surgery. If you wish, you may even go in for a second opinion.” Dr. Singh said.

“Sir! What would you suggest?” I asked.

“Given a free hand I would do a laminectomy and take a look. The fluid collection at that place is definitely odd and something tells me it is not TB. But opening the cervical spine is tricky business and there is always the possibility of complications. You are a doctor and that is making me hesitate. Why don’t you take a second opinion?”

It was then I made the most important decision of my life. “Sir! I have full faith in you. Go ahead with the Surgery.”

The good doctor was still hesitant, “Vivek, are you sure? Why don’t you discuss the matter with your family before reaching a decision?”

I simply reiterated my faith in him and God and asked him to go ahead.

Next afternoon I was wheeled into the operation theater. As the anesthetist started the pre-operative drugs, I had a sudden panic attack. “I am not getting out of here alive,” the thought which was at the back of my mind came to the fore with a blinding flash and frightening certainty. However, I managed to hold on my faith in God and the Surgeon. The drugs took hold and I slipped into oblivion. I woke up after a few hours. I realized two things. First, I was still in the realm of the living; second, I had not been shifted out of the operation theater. I saw an unknown face peering at me and asked him, “May I talk to Dr. Singh please?”

“He left around half an hour back after completing the surgery. I am the anesthetist and was waiting for you to come around.”

“Could you please tell me what was the per-operative diagnosis?”

“Nothing! There was no significant disease. We found just a small blood clot that was pressing on the spinal cord and causing the paralysis. I will be shifting you to the recovery room and you should be able to move in a couple of days.

Dr. Singh visited me in the evening and clarified that all the symptoms were caused by a simple clot of blood and there was no evidence of any other pathology. I walked out the hospital a week later and have been absolutely normal for last fifteen years.

Later, I realised that all the analgesics I had been taking off and on had precipitated the bleed. I have forgotten the sufferings, the mental and physical anguish and the feeling of helplessness and hopelessness of those days but not the lessons learnt from the episode.

The suffering has made me a better human being and a better doctor. Now I know how it feels to be on the other side. I realise that however bad things may seem at a particular point of time; tomorrow is always better. Now the motto of my life is, this too, shall pass. I understand that one must always keep faith in the treating doctor and in God. And instead of offering sympathy to my little patients and their parents, I give them empathy. Lastly, since that day I have never abused analgesics or overprescribed them to my patients.




To order the book online click here

It can't be you- Prem Rao ( Book review)

The man was dead….So begins Prem Rao’s debut novel, It can’t be you. And to the writer’s credit, he weaves a tale of murder, intrigue, deceit, bravery, love, lust and other myriad emotions with a lot of skill. The protagonist is murdered in the first line of the book but by no means is his role in the book over. A series of flashbacks tell us the story of Colonel Belliappa, war hero and psychopath rolled into one. We are introduced to his equally complex family which consists of his second wife, the beautiful and seductive Elena; his hot blooded and promiscuous daughter Shefali; his son Preetam, an apparently affable young man who has darker shades to his character and his long deceased first wife Dinaz, who casts a long shadow on his present. The story moves forward and we discover that every surviving family member had a motive and opportunity to kill Colonel Belliappa. Prem has developed this part skillfully and pointed the finger of suspicion at all members of the family, one by one. And this suspense is well maintained till the end. The end is unexpected, as befits a thriller and leaves the reader satisfied.

Talking of other pluses, the cover is intriguing; the language good, the pace nice and the characters well etched. The portions describing Coorg are vividly done. The description of Belliappa’s life in the army and the action sequences are the highlights of the book. Prem Rao shows flashes of brilliance and a lot of promise as a debutant.

Of the negatives, the portions about sex seem to be added as an afterthought, maybe as a concession to market forces. I would have been happier with crisper editing and a font size at least two points larger. Hopefully, these shortcomings will be taken care of in the next edition.

Overall, a good first book by Prem Rao, who has  turned to writing after almost 36 years of professional work as a Talent Management Specialist and an executive coach and I am sure there will be many more from his pen/ laptop/desktop/ whatever.

If you want to buy a copy of the book online please click here.

Book Review- Benaami

Benaami, the debut novel of Anish Sarkar is a significant step forward in many respects.  First, the excellent production quality makes the discerning reader happy. (True, the printers devil has struck in a place or two but then I have yet to see a completely error free novel printed in India.)  Amaryllis, a relatively new entrant in the field of English language publishing, deserves kudos for the high standards of editing and production.

 Secondly, and perhaps more significantly, it stands head and shoulders above the present lot of offerings in the market. A taut and pacy thriller, it moves effortlessly between the past and present as it tells us the compelling story of the past incarnation of Arjun, a software developer, as Kartik, the founder of a secret society named Benaami dedicated to uprooting British rule in India. Arjun is on a quest to solve the conundrum of his recurrent nightmares. Enter the charismatic Prof. Sheila Guha, who provides the support as well as the romantic angle. The story draws its strength from a secret from the past which poses a threat to the present of both Sheila and Arjun. The technique of moving alternately between the past (printed in italics) and the present is used well. Despite the complex storyline, the two stories intermingle well. The link between the past and present is brought out beautifully as the story hurtles along at a breakneck speed towards the explosive climax. The suspense about Brahmasrta, the secret weapon of Benaami is preserved till the end. The characters have been etched well, the pace never slackens and the suspense and intrigue is maintained till the last page. The story, though far fetched is plausible. I do see the plot of a major block buster movie in this novel.

I am sure Anish Sarkar will be a significant name in Indian English fiction in coming years. If you are fond of fast paced thrillers, you will like this one.


Order your copy of the book here.
Tweet

My first interview.

Click here to read my first interview about my début novel The Long Road.

Growing up in the seventies!

Someone emailed me the following article. I liked it and thought of sharing it with my friends on rediff. All the youngsters on Rediff may find it a bit difficult to conceive that such a world existed. Yes, it did, and most of its inhabitants were reasonably happy….

For those who grew up during the 70s in middle class India, here are some things that you can identify with – at least I do!

1. Though you may not publicly own to this, at the age of 12-17 years, you were very proud of your first ‘Bell bottom’, your first ‘Maxi’ or your first Apache jeans.

2. Phantom Mandrake were your only true heroes. The brainy ones read ‘Competition Success Review’.

3. Your ‘Camlin’ geometry box Natraj/Flora pencil was your prized possession.

4. The only ‘holidays’ you took were to go to your grandparents’ or your cousins’ houses.

5. Ice-cream meant only - either an orange stick, a vanilla stick, or a Choco Bar if you were better off than most.

6. You gave your neighbour’s phone number to others with a ‘c/o’ written against it because you had booked yours only 7 years ago and were still waiting for your number to come.

7. Your first family car (and the only one) was a Fiat or an Ambassador. This often had to be pushed by the entire family to get going.

8. The glass windows in the back seats used to get stuck at the two-thirds down level and used to irk the shit out of you! The window went down only if your puny arm could manage the tacky rotary handle to pull it down. Locking the door was easy. You just whacked the other tacky, non-rotary handle downwards.

9. Your mom had stitched the weirdest lace curtains for all the windows of the car. They were tied in the middle and if your dad was the comfort-oriented kinds, you had a magnificent small fan upfront.

10. Your parents were proud owners of HMT watches. You ‘earned’ yours after SSC exams.

11. You have been to ‘Jumbo Circus’; have held your breath while the pretty young thing in the glittery skirt did acrobatics, quite enjoyed the elephants hitting football, the motorcyclist vrooming in the ‘Maut ka Gola’ and it was politically okay to laugh your guts out at dwarfs hitting each others bottoms!

12. You have at least once heard ‘Hawa Mahal’ on the radio.

13. If you had a TV, it was normal to expect the neighborhood to gather around to watch the Chitrahaar or the Sunday movie. If you didn’t have a TV, you just went to a house that did. It mattered little if you knew the owners or not.

14. Sometimes the owners of these TVs got very creative and got a bi or even a tri-coloured anti-glare screen which they attached with two side clips onto their Weston TVs. That confused the hell out of you!

15. Black White TVs weren’t so bad after all because cricket was played in whites.

16. You thought your Dad rocked because you got your own (the family’s; not your own own!) colour TV when the Asian Games started. Everyone else got the same idea as well and ever since, no one came over to your house and you didn’t go to anyone else’s.

17. You dreaded the death of any political leader because of the mourning they would announce on the TV. After all how much ‘Shashtriya Sangeet’ can a kid take? Salma Sultana also didn’t smile during the mourning.

18. You knew that ‘Indira Gandhi’ was somebody really powerful and terribly important. And that’s all you needed to know.

19. The only ‘gadgets’ in the house were the TV, the Fridge and possibly a mixer.

20. All the gadgets had to be duly covered with a crochet covers and sometimes even with ingenious, custom-fit plastic covers.

21. Movies meant Rajesh Khanna or Amitabh Bachchan. Before the start of the movie you always had to suffer the obligatory ‘Newsreel’.

22. You thought you were so rocking because you knew almost all the songs of Abba and Boney M.

23. Your hormones went crazy when you heard ‘Disco Deewane’ by Naziya Hassan - Zoheb Hassan.

24. School teachers, your parents and even your neighbours could whack you and it was all okay.

25. Photograph taking was a big thing. You were lucky if your family owned a camera. A reel of 36 exposures was valuable hence it justified the half hour preparation ‘setting’ the ‘posing’ for each picture. Therefore, you have at least one family picture where everyone is holding their breath and standing at attention!

And we were really happy then….

First Love

With everyone writing about love, I too thought of joining the brigade. Although officially middle aged and certified jaded, I was young once and as a reed thin and gawky (read ugly) young man, I too yearned to find the love of my life. Now it was a different matter that all the beautiful girls in my college never even looked at me. (On honest retrospection, I really don’t blame them) But hormones being hormones, they were doing their job and I was pining away for the princess of my dreams.

And one day, I got it. A small crumpled note, thrown into my hostel room. (Those days there were no mobiles, no internet, no social websites. Cards were too expensive and the only acceptable way of conveying your sentiments were anonymous notes written on pages torn off our notebooks). I like you, it said in large feminine hand writing. I nearly swooned with excitement. I rushed to the bathroom, the only place where we got a modicum of privacy and gazed at it lovingly. I even smelled it, expecting it to be perfumed, but it smelled of formalin from the dissection hall of the anatomy department. I tried to imagine the girl behind the note, but my imagination boggled. I went around grinning like an idiot for a few days till my room mate got alarmed and offered to accompany me to the psychiatry department for a checkup. I politely declined and smiled inward. What does this retard know? I thought, a girl actually likes me.

After a fortnight, there was another one. A note, I mean and not a room mate. Did you get my previous note, it asked and went on to declare, I want to talk to you. Talk to me, wow, great, unbelievable. All I need to do is find the girl behind the note. And that was easier said than done. I spent the better part of the week sneaking looks at all my female classmates and trying to find the girl behind the note. But it was of no avail. There was not even a hint of interest in any of the kohl lined eyes. The stupid tutor caught me staring at the girls and kicked me out of the class for the day.

Another note came after a week. Why are you ignoring me, it asked plaintively, Why don’t you reply. Ignoring who???? And I want to reply! In fact I want to throw myself at your beautiful feet and kiss them till kingdom comes but how do I find you????? By now the testosterone and other sundry relations in my puny frame were at boiling point. Do you know what these are? The same hormones which make the she donkey appear beautiful to the he donkey and the female owl the most desirable to the male owl and all that. Got the drift? Good!

It was time to get some help. I confided in my close friends over a bottle of shared beer (as one bottle was all we could afford in those days of penury.) You are bullshitting; no girl will send you a note; someone is pulling your leg etc. were the universal verdict. At last my room mate (the same who had diagnosed me a loony) took the responsibility of hunting up the lady in question. He went about the job with a calm assurance (which even bordered on indifference to my palpitating heart) A day passed, two days, three and then a week and there was no progress. Relax, these things take time was his standard rejoinder to my constant pestering. The week turned to a month and there was no answer. Yes, he started staying away from the room for inordinately long periods of time.

Then I found out that he had been spending most of the time with a girl from my class in the canteen. I was aghast at this perceived act of betrayal. When I accused him of stealing my girl, he was unrepentant. Actually dude, the notes were meant for me. You simply picked them up by mistake, was his explanation.

Tweet

Flash fiction- 55 word stories

I have just one thing to say in defence of these stories. All of them are exactly 55 words.

The beer bar was shrouded in shadows. The dancers gyrated to raunchy bollywood numbers on the makeshift stage while the patrons gaped at them.
A group of young friends in a corner chatted animatedly. “Shit!” said one of them, pointing to a couple of middle aged men who had just entered. “My dad is here!”

 

***

The private detective listened as the lady said, “I am sure my husband is cheating on me. I want you to get me the proof so that I can divorce the insect.”
After she had left, the man sighed as he remembered that her husband had been in the previous day with a similar demand.
***

As the sunlight faded in the cold and foggy December evening, most of the working girls hurried home. Some had families to go back to while others went back to their respective working women hostels or PG accommodations.

However, for the girl with sad eyes, excessive make-up and cheap perfume, the day was just beginning.

 

***

Her husband was away to Bangkok.  

It’s a very important academic event and I simply can’t miss it, he had told her before going.She had smiled in acquiescence while feigning ignorance about his real motive.

She picked up the phone and dialed. “Hi sweetheart, today you can stay the whole night if you wish…. “

 

***

The midwife had been struggling with the delivery the whole night.

 It was a difficult case and they should have taken her to the city hospital, she grumbled.

But the family was poor and could ill afford the transport and the costs involved.

At last, the baby arrived and cried lustily. She smiled in relief.

 

***

 

It had been raining the whole night.

The overflowing river waters were threatening to enter the little hut where she lived with her three children.

 They had all spent the night huddled in the middle.

It stopped raining in the morning and the sun peeped through the clouds bringing with it a message of hope.

 

***

He stopped his car on seeing the roadside lunatic. 

Some Good Samaritan had left cooked rice and water on the sidewalk for the birds.

The mynahs and crows were having a feast and he was happily sharing their meal.  

He snapped a photograph on his mobile camera for his face book update and drove on.

***

He scoffed at the concept of ghosts. 

Was willing to spend a night in a haunted house to win a bet ; he took a flask of coffee and his ipod, made himself comfortable and waited for the night to end so that he could collect the money. 

The night never ended, at least for him.

 

 

 

 *** 

 

 

Room number 206, Sunrise Hotel.

Bored housewife ….afternoon trysts.
Fun as well as some cash.

Waiting for her next client. 

The bell chimes! She puts on her most seductive smile to usher him in.
Both stare at each other in utter shock. 

Wasn’t her husband supposed to be working in his office at that time?

 

Webpage of THE LONG ROAD

Please click the following link to visit the web-page of THE LONG ROAD.

Home - THE LONG ROAD