When the Curtain Falls

When the curtains fell on life at night, the city surrendered itself to a parallel life, with the street dogs ruling the streets, and the employees burning the midnight lamp, giving human kind a minority status for some time. A few souls silently worked at night, some weaving carpets, some guarding houses, letting the solace of the night cave over them and making their bread-earning responsibilities less difficult.

The guard at the light house was no different. He pointed his big beam of light from the tall tower outlet he sat in. Accompanied by music regularly over powered by static disturbances. He let the music play for it beautified the persistent silence around him as he looked at the sea, endless, infinite and beautiful, ignited by a full moon. The view, the low music and the caressing winds were his only company.

A rocky patch separated the sandy shore from the street. A little tea stall stood at the corner of the turn on the street. The tea stall facilitated a midnight routine of carpet weavers, patients and staff of the nearby hospital. Everybody sipped their tea while taking a stroll on the shore;  some breaths everybody would take before going back and plunging into their routines.

Sometime after three, the light house guard carefully fixes his beam of light and heads out for his cup of tea. It is routine for him, to head out at this time. A time carefully selected when there is less expectancy of an approaching guest from the sea.

The man at the tea house sees the approaching guard and starts pouring his tea with just the right amount of cardamom. The guard takes his tea, greets the stall keeper with a smile and sits on the rock he always prefers sitting on. His sighting is no different than what he sees every day, the dark shore, a fixed spot light in the sea, a moon reflecting down on the waters and the same man, clad in white.

The man who’s here every day, talking furiously on the phone, stopping only to sigh. Sometimes he looks at the spectating guard, with the light reflecting on his numb eyes. The guard always wanted to talk to the old man but he would never leave his phone.

This time the old man was quite close to the tower guard. The guard could hear fragments of the old man’s statements, describing his misery, his loneliness which added up to his sickness and made him feel like an “Unwanted mass of flesh”

The old man kept on speaking on the phone, till something very strange happened. The old man was interrupted while he was about to say something more. The phone he held on to his ear rang. The old man looked at the tower guard with numb eyes and walked away.

The tower guard saw the old man walking away and decided that from now on, he won’t hesitate to interrupt the old man’s disguised monologue. He hoped to see him the next night, when the curtain falls again.

Grandpa's Wooden Compartment

Nobody knew how Grandpa had come to the village. There were stories of how a thunderous night had given way to a new day when there was a hut right beyond the last fields of the village. Initially, for the villagers Grandpa was a saint and a great man of magical abilities. As time went by, the villagers were clarified about the old man’s abilities which were definitely magical.

Grandpa had a separate wooden compartment outside his hut. It was from here that Grandpa laboriously exercised his force to communicate with something divine. The wooden compartment was where Grandpa amplified the great rumblings of his tummy. The sounds were heavy and could easily be mistaken for thunder due to which many farmers of the village would some time run to their fields expecting a shower but every time to their utter disappointment it would be Grandpa fooling them from his compartment.

The compartment’s close proximity to the village would display the after-effects every morning. When the villagers would see fainted skunks, pigs and hyenas everywhere, it wasn’t surprising for the villagers as they knew the disastrous scent of Grandpa’s prowess. Every night the scenario was the same, the villagers would be fearfully having their meals and Grandpa would be ending his meals of radishes and onions in the wooden compartment.

Grandpa was known to make edible balls from a powdered substance, Churan. It was made up of spices, herbs and a bit of weed. He would keep these edible balls in large jars outside his hut with only the birds feeding on it. It was believed that Churan ignited an inner fire in a being which gave your rear the ability to roar like a lion, a roar that could shake up the heavens and the meditating Gods there. Birds who constantly fed on Grandpa’s Churan had changed quite differently into creatures with a constant feeling of rage, since they couldn’t let out the heat of their inner fires due to the absence of a rear outlet.

Some of these different birds had migrated to the city which had inspired a human game on them, which showed replicas of these birds destroying physical structures.

The villagers found a ray of hope when the talking donkey told them about the approaching bandits. That’s how the villagers fled overnight hoping to return only when the bandits were gone and so was Grandpa.

On a fateful morning Grandpa was chewing a radish with the leader of the bandits pointing his rifle muzzle at him. The other bandits were right behind him on their horses. Grandpa offered the gun holder a radish but he refused. The bandit’s intention to pull the trigger was interrupted by a sudden rush of birds high on Grandpa’s Churan.

As every bandit was on the ground struggling with the birds, Grandpa went from bandit-to-bandit, sitting on every bandit’s face and blessing him with a loud roar. Every time he blessed a bandit, the bandit shook like he had ingested lightning. After Grandpa was done with all 15 of them, they all dropped their guns and raised their arms and Grandpa said, “Welcome back to life, sons”

The villagers returned only to see Grandpa and his 15 bandits chewing their radishes and roaring at them with a smile. And from then on, things became very intense during the nights with not 1 but 16 wooden compartments.

Figment of a Memory

He lied down there, in utter bemusement watching the little twinkling dots of brilliance. A warm breath of air hit his cheek. On turning to the side, a twisted smile spread on his face. His hands reached out, feeling her silky hair. After a playful surrender, he held her warm fist with his fingers intertwined in her.

A tenderly gush of air started to blow, with her hair playfully dancing in randomness. Sometimes hiding a part of her smile, sometimes covering her beautiful eyes. Under the stars, between them, a universe was complete.

With an arm gently placed on her, he started looking up again. A sigh of contentment thanked the forces of nature for this perfect moment. The dark and starry sky broke with a sharp yellow dot. It pierced his vision making him shield his eyes as he grumbled in disgust.

Soon the sharp light went off and he looked up at a dark figure standing before, "Didn't I tell you to stop these late night homages, you retard?!" he heard a voice said.

Something immediately threw him back to sorts again. He got up, kissed the gravestone and ran away.

Celebration of the Moment

Jack sipped his black coffee sitting in a congested cabin. A place so tiny that even the cigarette smoke was finding it hard to disappear outside. He was about to light his fourth cigarette when he heard a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” he cried.

“It’s Alison” a voice replied back.

“Come in Al”

Alison walked in; he began coughing trying to accustom him to the suffocation inside.

“So Mr. Sheriff, What do we have with us?” Jake took a puff of the cigarette he had just lit.

“Evidence, sir, something that will feed our curiosities as we have lunch” Alison sat down, kept his hat on the table cluttered with files and hefty registers.  On the untidy table, a small monitor screen was kept. Jake looked at Alison tidying up the table as he patiently puffed out his cigarette. Finally enough space was made that would facilitate two people to have a comfortable meal.

“Alright sir. Are we ready?” Alison sat down.

“Yes indeed” Jake picked up the phone and placed his order.

Once the eateries arrived on the table, Alison inserted a small cassette into the cassette player. The small TV screen on the table blinked in response, showing a close up of a young man’s face. With his tongue popped out, one could make out from his unseen hand gestures that he was trying to adjust the camera.

After unknowingly giving funny expressions he finally stopped, “Oh! It’s on!’ he cried.

Minutes later this man who called himself Teeber started talking about his wife who had left him and how gravely it saddened him. He called the lonely nights, “Disturbingly haunting” and the days, “Lifelessly redundant”. He talked about his son Little Timmy who had referred to him as a “bad man” and how he had left with his mommy on that Sunday morning. He went on talking about working in a factory and a meager wage.

“Mommy! Only you know how Teeber feels like” he looked up. His cries began subsiding, giving way to sobs. “Get up Teeber! Mommy’s watching you. She’s asking you to get up on your feet” Teeber mumbled with his hands cupping his face.

“I don’t need reasons to rejoice!”  Teeber suddenly stood up as if something had taken control of him. Within no time he had lined up bottles on the table. After drinking three back-to-back, he turned on the music system and started dancing like a high voltage current was trying to sustain itself in his body.

Every now and then Teeber would come near the camera screaming and howling with a repeated claim, “I’ve won over everything!”

The time at the bottom of the screen read 3:11 am. “It’s almost time” Alison looked away from the screen and saw Jake with glimmering eyes.

At 3.16 am Teeber’s celebration was interrupted by vibrations around him. The camera fell down and was displaced to an odd angle which showed the roof of the place. A mass of concrete came down and the video went blank.

Jake wiped his eyes, “This unfortunate catastrophe might’ve not killed his spirit” he said.

They both sat there, observing a silent prayer.  After a while Alison put his hat and walked off.

Wild Encounters

The toad was croaking away for a reason only he knew. With his tiny body on a big rock, he stood there totally unaffected by insects flying over the still waters around. After staying there frozen for a while and croaking away something unknown, the tenor of the persistent stillness was interrupted when a series of scales appeared in the waters. The toad stood there watching the long body with hypnotic patterns move towards it. On getting close enough a long neck rose out to greet the toad with the tongue letting out a hiss. Both the creatures let their glances do some silent talking, after which the serpent turned back and the toad jumped on its body.

While moving towards the piece of land on the other end, the toad was greeted by fishes popping out from still waters betraying the fact that they didn’t have wings to rise and drop from such heights. The snake remained unaffected to the frequent splashes. After crossing the waters, there were tall grasses forming a patch of green. The snake slowly slipped into the grasses and became still.

The toad began croaking again but the snake didn’t move. In a jiffy the croaking toad was answered by a screech from the skies. All the toad could see was a pair of claws coming down to hold the serpent with the toad balancing itself on the scaled body. Within no time, the toad was staring at the sun which clearly appeared red to his layered eyes.

After a flight which lasted for some time, the flying bird lowered and landed on the ground. The snake suddenly motioned back to life and the toad jumped in response too.

They were finally on the hill. The eagle was already pecking out the green leaves from the cannabis plants growing on the irregular slope. After carefully selecting the right mushroom the snake had its body rolled around it preparing to make the swallow.

The toad looked at them and croaked continually, until a croak finally turned into an unclear cough and the toad exclaimed, “Will someone make me a joint?!”

= = = =

In a world of intoxication , peace persists.

The Blind Walk

For a blindfolded man, everything around was just an unclear picture. The sounds were just clues that pointed to a sight that may or may not match his interpretation. The only rule was to keep moving, with only the belief glowing brightly despite the pitch black impressions in sight.

The days were about the tiring walks, with the blazing sun shaking the will to move on, making the blind uncertainty look very severe and hard hitting. The nights consoled with the breeze tenderly touching the face, and just like that, the blind man smiled.

The hope of finding sight, was always kept in secrecy, protected from the day to day struggles.

One night, hope showed itself, by replicating itself in reality. The silent prayer was answered. And just like that, a certain beautiful lady had bumped into the blind man finally. She had opened his blindfold, and finally it was all so clear. The days of darkness were now making sense, by this much needed conclusion.

With the attainment of this beautiful sight, a life was brought back to life.

Just Another Weekend

The afternoon was just like any other Saturday afternoon, when the world was waiting for the weekend’s excitement to kick in. The bars, the shopping malls and the cinemas were deserted with only the pigeons contributing to the hustle bustle. A walk through the neighborhood would just let one witness the harmonious cacophony of television sets, which kept the half-awake people busy till they transformed into the party animals in the evening.

The weekend for Henry was the same too. He repeatedly tapped the remote control, letting the channels change. Every now and then there would be a channel that would be outrageously loud in volume, but there was no one to cry out to him, to lower the volume. For him the television set was like a shamelessly outspoken lady who just kept him distracted from his own loneliness.

This is enough, Henry thought flicking the remote on the couch. A nice little thought crept into his mind, there was an outburst of enthusiasm and he picked up the phone to make some calls. After a series of calls, he waited. Soon Henry was answering a series of knocks with a welcoming expression. By the evening, when everyone was getting out of their homes, the party at Henry’s place had just begun.

There was Mark, Terry and even the usually lazy Frank. There was beer and there were pizzas. The evening was turning into a beautiful night accompanied by songs and some mild dancing. After the beers kicked in, the old men became the young boys they once used to be. First it was the lazy Frank, then Mark and finally Terry who actually dozed off while describing his puppy love for his art teacher back in school.

Henry wasn’t really sleepy; he was just looking at the three drunk faces around him, three old men who were sleeping like babies. He felt an urge to cry in happiness for it was only these three guys who made him feel at home. Maybe because all four of them were just walking the same roads, in fact, not walking but still making their way through life together.

Henry never realized when he went to sleep. In the morning Terry shook him to wake him up, “Hey you, you forgot to turn off the lights last night” he said.

Henry saw that all of them were wide awake and preparing to leave. He went outside to see them off, as they made promises to party harder next weekend. With the final wave of goodbye, they parted ways. Three wheel chairs began making their way through the side walk and one wheel chair rolled back into the house.