Take up the scissors sisters.... (a really angry outburst)

A colleague showed me a picture with a lot of hurt on his face and heart today. I took one look at it and my soul took an about turn inside my head. It was a picture of the most recent victim to India’s latest fad lying there in the open ground, a young girl, No the cold dead husk of a young girl with a trail of blood leading to a pool of bood not far from where she was lying. Curious onlookers and cops sourrounded the body while the abused, mutilated and murdered  body of this girl coated in her own blood was up for grabs for the new age social media paparazzi who happened along with his cameraphone. I averted my eyes and asked my friend not to share the picture or show it to anyone else.

It was an extreemly disturbing sight to behold which cast a pall of gloom on my entire day. It was not just the dead girl, but the gwakers who thronged the place and the sadistic cloud of curiosity that hung like acidic fog in that picture.

Back home, while browsing through FB, I happened to read a post about the very same insident – sans the picture; thank god, sense prevails in some forums. . What hooked my thoughts to linger over it were the innane comments on Indian culture and how girls should wear cloths that befit our culture and how they should not venture out after dark... there was no end to it. I tried reading the many free advices but gave up after seeking sense in the comments pasted below the simple post that protested the horrendous act.

My pensive bubble shattered when a thought hit me like a speeding truck. How am I different from the hundreds of thousnds who raise their voices and light candles and maybe join a protest or two and then go back home to curl up with a snifter of brandy thinking I have done something to change this order ?

How many of us who cry ourselves hoarse over the recent spate of attack on womanhood have said that I will begin by teaching my son to respect women ? How many have thought to himself / herself that I will show him the way by giving the women around me the respect they deserve. We will teach him that all are equal and rights belong to both sexes ?

Well ?  Have we ? Have WE ? There is something seriously wrong in the current scenario because all I see,  all that I can see with my eyes cast down in Utter shame while reading the morning news is of more rapes,  more children being raped and more rape murders.

All for thirty seconds of an itch. Thirty seconds of pleasure while a life giving - I repeat,  LIFE GIVING seminal fluid travels it's way from the loins to find its way out of the body. A warm body of a male which has the same reactions to abuse, hurt and pain as much as the girl getting raped.

A young child's body violated, the mind scarred for the rest of her waking hours, brutality tearing the very innards and sometimes snubbing out the life from her.....

All for a lousy thirty seconds of itch.

Take up the scissors sisters. 

Father's day (Short story / drama)

14^th June, 2014, 11.00 PM – The Celebration

Yesterday was a blur right from the morning. After all, getting accepted at Stanford on scholarship was something Varun or his family never imagined. As the festivities dragged on late into the night to congratulate the golden boy, he noticed his father’s paternal pride increasing in direct proportion with his liquor intake. But even Varun was surprised to catch the gleaming rectangular object tossed his way by his father. The key to 370 horses lay gleaming in his hand, the other pride and joy of his father, his latest acquisition. Ignoring his Mom’s disapproving look, he mouthed a thanks to his beaming Dad and snuck out.

15^th June, 2014, 02.00 AM – The drive

Driving the powerful SUV at breakneck pace was heady stuff indeed especially while carrying on the party in the car along with your friends, thought Varun as he chugged on a bottle of MaCallen he flicked from the party. The vehicle moved like a dream – exactly what they promised in the advertisements and the motor mags. Each prod from his right foot was rewarded by adrenalin inducing fierce leaps. His friends were chasing beer with whiskey and he, being the driver was ignored for a few rounds. As Varun turned around to take the bottle from his friend in the back seat, he saw a small car trying to avoid the path of his swerving SUV. He watched, limbs frozen in morbid fascination as the SUV ‘s lights showcased the abject fear of its occupants, a young man and a heavily pregnant wife. Time seemed to slow down for Varun; and his alcohol addled brain admired the red and green shawl the woman was wearing while  the Two ton plus SUV ploughed into the car. The crash happened so fast that the two instances of admiring the Shawl and seeing blood erupt from the driver’s mangled head seemed stitched together. His only coherent action after the incident was to call his Dad.

His Father reached the spot in twenty minutes, after checking his son and his groggy friends and finding them without much harm thanks to expensive but protective German engineering. He spoke to them very clearly and tersely for the next few minutes. All the alcohol he imbibed earlier seemed to evaporate with the daunting responsibility at hand. After scaring and swearing Varun’s friends to secrecy and dropping them off, they both drove in silence back home. What his father convinced him to do was heavy on Varun’s mind. As soon as they reached home, he took the offered glass of Single malt from his Dad as the obedient boy he always was and drank three stiff shots one after another as his father looked on with the same look of pride and love he had a while back at the party.

15^th June 2014, 8.00 AM Father’s day

His phone’s shrill alarm woke him up to face a hangover fit for a boxer. He shook his head to remove the cobwebs of sleep and gain a grasp on reality. As realization of what transpired a few hours hit him, he ran out to the patio to the vision of his father being led away by the cops. About to climb into the police vehicle, his father turned around and a silent communication of understanding passed between father and son. His father’s eyes begged him to remember and obey what was told in the wee hours of the morning. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he stood rooted, silently accepting the Father’s day gift from his Father. 

Deathcuse (short story fiction horror comedy)

Darling,

The first memory of my new life began exactly a day into my departure from all earthly connection. Here I was, on my back looking at the darkness within the constraints of a coffin.  I wanted to scratch my head out of habit and found it so easy to reach through the wooden walls and surrounding earth and reach my balding head. As always, a solution to the situation did not arrive magically upon titillating my receding hairline.

That's when I heard someone call my name in a voice which will never win applause in a reality show. I stood and looked up at a man, thin of stature. His remarkably leathery face broke into a grin as he saw my head poking out of the pit. I reluctantly took his offered hand and proceeded to climb out from the depressing cavity for the dead.

My new pal from the netherworld shook my hand vigorously and introduced himself, Jim Creeper. It was difficult for me to catch his name through his rasp. ‘Funny name’ I thought as he produced a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label from his pocket followed by two glasses, a two liter bottle of soda and a party pack of chips. I decided I like this guy.  I mean, what better welcome can one ask for? Some ice would have been nice but old Mr.  Creeper must have been reading my mind because he said where he comes from, ice doesn't exist. Must be one of those countries equator was pinned on, I reasoned with self.

We sat down right there and while the bottle drained, I regaled him with the story of my life. Mr. Creeper, Jim now after boozy familiarity shot down the last peg and stood up all business like. He helped me up to my unsteady feet and said he has to grant me entry now. He quelled my homophobia by saying he's going to ask me a question; if the answer is correct, I get to go to heaven. If not, I will go to hell.

Jim smiled and asked his question for which the prize was prime afterlife real estate. "What is big and cold throughout its life and opens only to spew fire on a poor soul?" 

Darling, If I hadn’t been dead, my brain would have supplied me with the answer, but I was dead and I blurted out the closest thing that popped up in my mind. Your name.

Silence enveloped us till Jim rocked the cemetery with his laughter. He was bent up in laughter till he rolled in the mud. Then he got up, wiped his tears off and said. Go home son, go home. I found that answer so funny that I am gifting your life back.

In a flash, I was back in my body and standing here. And that’s why I am back at this time drunk as a skunk.

 Darling please let me in.