First Love Letter (fiction - short story)

Written for my wife's page -https://www.facebook.com/CakeCanvasFromAnnAskitchen

We met for the first time in a coffee shop in Bangalore, on an outing with a few of my college mates to a coffee shop, a friend pointed out to a boy eyeing the huge piece of brownie placed in front of him as if it was the ticket to heaven. My heart skipped a beat as he poured a heavy, really heavy dose of melted chocolate on top of the brownie and completely immersed the titanic proportion in thick chocolate. He deftly cut into it and with great care not to drip the sauce, took his first mouthful to chew it slowly, eyes closed and enjoying the taste to the max. I have never seen anyone enjoy a dessert with so much abandon till that day. The afternoon light permeating through the brown tapestry above played its chocolate magic on his countenance and the earth colored walls around him to reflect chocolate hued shadows around the apparition of the boy who loves chocolate. Being an artist and a fledgling painter, my mind was already framing a mental picture of a good oil on canvas - and he opened his eyes and looked directly at me.

A beat passed and I could feel all the blood in my body rush into my face when I realized that my friends had turned their attention to things other than the one was immersed in and I was the only one who was staring at him at that moment. Just two pairs of eyes locked on to each other from across two tables in a quaint Bangalore bistro with the Eagles crooning ‘Love will keep us alive’.
This was heading to a disaster. I knew it. I pictured the boy to suddenly turn into that perfect moron, swagger on to my table with that usual idiotic self important smile and spoil the moment by trying to chat up the girl who dared to look at him. I winced inwardly; waiting for the shattering fall of the beautiful vision he and I were a part of. But then he did something he does so well, from that time when we were teenagers to now - he understood. I don’t know how and no matter how much I try to take his behavior apart I will never know. With a goofy grin which I loved from the first sight, he looked down on the cake and took another scoop of the cake (now I was watching him from the corner of my eye) then went about his business and spared me of an embarrassment and most importantly, kept the vision and its effect intact.
The waiter arrived with our orders and I was conscious of his surreptitious yet approving glance at the extra large proportion of chocolate brownie on my plate. I wanted so much to pour piping hot chocolate sauce on to the plate and taste the yummy deliciousness with the same gusto as the chocoholic across the bistro but couldn’t give in to the temptation due to ego. He must have seen the forlorn look with which I was regarding my brownie, because he stood up abruptly and walked towards the cashier, spoke to him and paid for his fare and left without finishing his brownie.
I was stunned, hurt a little bit and self doubt started creeping in. Did he leave because I was staring at him? Was he one of those finicky eaters who couldn’t bear to have anyone looking at him? My appetite went for a toss and I was about to pick at my brownie without any interest when I felt a presence at my side.
The waiter had returned, he had a bowl of steaming hot chocolate sauce in one hand and a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the other hand. As he served the portions on to my plate, he proclaimed “You are the 10000th customer to order at this place and you get an upgrade” I caught his fib even though my hugely excited friends didn’t. It was him; the boy had asked them to bring me the exact same thing I was craving for, leaving his own dessert in a hurry so that I could have mine in peace.
I finished my PUC in another 6 months and shifted to Chennai and immersed myself into my pursuance of art studies. On occasions I would have a sizzling chocolate brownie and remember the chance encounter with that stranger.
Years passed by and I finished degree and a masters in art and was working in a small designer firm when my parents decided that it was time for me to enter matrimony. Dad called me over for a Pennukaanal (part of a tradition of arranged marriage where the boy comes over to see the girl – a venue where they can meet for the first time)
A faint familiarity tugged my memories as I watched the young man walk into the house flanked by his parents. A cheerful family by the looks of it; quiet comfortable with each other. They made my family lose their tension of hosting the first pennu kaanal in decades. My baby sister ran into my room with her approval. All went well, we talked a bit and he even made me laugh a bit. But the nagging sensation that I know him from somewhere remained. Not an uneasy feeling, but persisting all the same.
The family left, waving byes to all gathered and my folks started giving me looks of anticipation. I glanced a look at the TV screen showing an ad for Cadbury’s and my mouth gaped open!! It was him. We were meeting after 8 years and the years had made subtle changes to the teenagers who met for a brief minute in Bangalore. My lips must have been curved in a smile because my mom started teasing me on starting to daydream already. His family was on the phone they liked the idea of both of us together in matrimony and wanted to see if he could come back the next day to propose.
With my heart beating so loud I was scared others could hear it, I took the phone from my mom’s hand and managed to crock an OK.
The next day, he arrived with the same grin I remembered after all these years and sat down at the dining table. In front of him, in his plate, was a big piece of chocolate brownie I made for him, a bowl of piping hot chocolate sauce and a giant scoop of vanilla Ice cream. His eyes shone in bright luminescence as he eyed the brownie and its ensemble, and made small talk with my family who had gathered around him in excitement till they left us alone.
We looked at each other, me blushing and him looking at me and his plate. He took the sauce and poured it liberally over the brownie, the thick chocolate slowly covering it up as it travelled through the rifts and valleys of the chocolate delicacy. I watched with the feeling that I am going to see him do the same thing for the rest of my life and reveled in the knowledge that I am going to love watching him do that no matter how many repetitions of the brownie chocolate dance he does with his hands. As he took the first bite of the chocolate coated brownie, his eyes closed just that little bit in utter enjoyment and the familiar smile returned to his face. And without opening his eyes, he slowly reached into his pocket to withdraw an envelope and handed it over. I opened it to see the first love letter from my husband.

Attaching a soft copy of it.

Pink Hued Dream

Pink butterflies and a teddy dear,
Came home pushing a trolley near.
From inside peeps a little head,
Curly hair and angel smile.

As we sing her the birthday song,
She danced around and spread her cheer.
God daughter of Cake Canvas,
Lily Lizbeth is ONE today.

So out we rolled this big pink cake,
Decked up pretty in all things nice.
Happy Birthday Lily Doll,
Darling Girl of your God Parents.

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.509042809193487.1073741908.284028921694878&type=1

Slavery (poetry on Mobile phones and us)

I'm a slave, faithful and servile
To you, I've been like this a while
No, can't think of moving on.

Dream of holding you through the day,
Clutch you close while I sleep,
Life without you is so bleak.

Stare, adoring at your curves
All the time like a perv
While you go on, unaware of my love.

Life would be a dark and dank place,
If I don't have you by my side
Don't care, let people snide.

Facebooking all night long,
Movies, PJs and a lot of porn,
Yeah, you make my life colorful.

FIVE inches of HD clarity,
Quad core speed to beat reality,
You, are the love of my life.

Hand held, a phablet, or simply a phone,
No matter what, you'll never be thrown
You are the best thing that happened to me.

“Can’t let go….” said the Stork

Flew a thousand miles baby,
with you from blue yonder.
Now we are at your door step,
and my mind begins to ponder.
About to let you go,
but my mind says hark!
Hold him close and enjoy the spark,
of that angelic smile you old stork. 

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.543905672373867.1073741930.284028921694878&type=1 

Lonely green bench by the Sea (poetry wistful reflection of constants in life)

Lonely green bench by the sea
Looking out at eternity
Million faces you have seen
Still you stay up all alone
Counting waves all night long

It used to be painted green,
By a little spot near the beach,
Washed in surf spray it used to glow
In the glory days it musta smiled

We used to play next to it
All the friends gathered at the beach
Played hard we did all day
In those days we laughed a lot

Kisses we have shared at nights
Passions rose and set hearts afire
On the bench that sat alone
Overlooking the shiny sea

By the bench we came again
To unite and share our vows
To step into another life
And build ourselves a universe

Time flew by and we all grew
When the grays started showing up
We still remembered an old friend
Our lonely green bench by the sea

Now I stand here past my prime
To take a last look at the bench
With shaking hands I touch the flakes
Of the green that used to be

Lonely green bench by the sea
Looking out at eternity
Million faces you have seen
Still you will stand all alone
Long after I am gone.

Cinderellã - Belle of the ball

“Hurry up Jaq, look at our little girl,
Wee drop of magic, how it has changed her.
Blues of her eyes, so bright and shiny,
Locks so golden and vibrant in top knot.
That swirl of magic, still working its way down,
To ensure the dress is fit for a princess.
A face set to launch a thousand ships,
From first glance will ensnare the young prince.
Feet moving in a flow to the beat of the music.
All eyes on her as she enters the dance floor,
Our little girl will be the star of the night,
The belle of the ball,
The belle of the ball.”

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.524955937602174.1073741917.284028921694878&type=1

Death of a Gentleman (poetry on Jack Daniels)

Here lies Jack, a Gentleman to the last drop, Gone away to a place where good whiskeys are hallowed.

From birth to death he was mellowed twice, but always served his masters right.

Farewell good friend, you ll be remembered for the good taste you spread till the last cheers.

Progeny (Discourse on relationship with my son)

This little boy is going to grow up into a strapping young lad soon and smirk at my pathetic little knowledge of the new world… A new world it is too, if you see how matters have changed in the past 15-20 years. It is a radically different world today from the time I was a six year old. That’s for sure. Even Marty McFly didn’t see this when he flew his Flux capacitor Delorean to 2013.
You ll know what I mean if you tried to keep up with the names of all the characters in the Avengers, know the sub plots in Ironing man (or is it the Iron-man ?) and know how he differs from the Man of Steel. It is considered a sacrilege to the six year olds the world over if their father ever mixes up the imaginary characters … There was this one time when I was trying to prove my knowledge levels on matters of the superhero world with my son and his buddy from school. One mix up was all it took and I was eternally cast away from the island populated by the minds (superior – he says) of six year olds. Banished forever to wander the lanes where old farts like me congregate to dwell in the misery of outcasts.
The one or two examples I have given above are just the tip of the iceberg. Our differences vary from our Deities - mine is Rajinikanth flipping his beedi and he likes Superman who flips a full truck on to a post. I grew up watching Bruce lee getting cut up by Dr. Han with the steel claw and he reveres the wolverine who cuts up pretty much anything with his retractable steel (oops adamantium) claws.
We differ so much that I am forced now to think Men are from Mars, women are from Venus and little six year old boys are from some technologically advanced planet named Krypton maybe ? (oops the name is taken says my technocrat) and I give up.
This goes way beyond technology too sometimes. Seemingly innocent fact finding queries like “ Appa, so do babies come out the way they showed it in 3 Idiots ?” render me speechless much the same way the dean in the said movie was by Aamir Khan’s character. I do not want to talk more on the subject; I will face that wall when I have to climb it. The later the better.
What do I tell someone who actually believes he and his ilk are mentally superior to the Old generation? I tried to tell him that babies are born without brains and the parents have to donate a part of their brain to make sure that they get a small share of wisdom. Pat comes the reply “Thanks Appa for giving me all of it” I shatter into pieces.
But for all our differences, he is still six. And still my little baby boy. He still loves to cuddle, wants to see movies with me, tries to improve my level of knowledge continuously and tirelessly and we love each other to bits. Sometimes, just sometimes accidently I do something right and I see that look he has when he is watching the Incredible Hulk. Oh, those moments, those moments I can fly faster than a speeding bullet, Stop a speeding locomotive and even shoot laser beams out of my ass. No Eyes EYES !!!
That is Jacob Mathew Vadayatt with me, named after his illustrious Grandfathers (Paternal and Maternal) two men who keep up to the current trends in technology, giving me a glimmer of hope for my own Techno-future.

Love at first sight (a love letter for an old flame HM Ambassador)

Her body is voluptuous with tantalizing curves exactly where they should be... Only, on a lady of her girth, they look - well, slightly out of proportions. Even then, her skin is taut and firm to the touch of the ardent admirer. Her voice, seductive with a hint of a rasp and eventhough not in the same class as the beauty queens of today, she could move with grace to the dancing moves as directed by loving hands which steered her on a well choreographed dance.

She is familiar to most of us, with that huge rear complimented by the bug eyes and toothy grin being a part of our culture for many a decade stretching from her birth in 1958 in the small factory in Uttarpara, West Bengal to be the first car manufactured in India.

An esteemed colleague once proudly narrated, upon being asked about a small cut on his forehead – “I was involved in an accident in our old Amby (Ambassador) when I was a child. I was thrown out of the car, broke the front windshield with my head”. A pause as he took a deep drag off his ITC King. Intrigued, I prodded “Then what”? He replied “Oh, then I lost my consciousness”. The esteemed colleague is on his 33rd year of unconsciousness.

In a way, this sum up the feelings of the very few Amby lovers left in the world have towards that first fling of theirs. We all lost our consciousness when we were young to this plump matron of an amiable but unforgiving car. We are a small population, certainly unlike the current crop of youngsters who grew up with anemic Japanese/Korean cars, or towards more recent times, to chiseled German perfection. We are the ones who lived at a time when the only choice of cars available in the market were an Amby or a small wheedling Fiat copy – think it was called a Padmini. A PADMINI !!! Sir/Madam/Madman, what would happen to a teen’s standing among the testosterone brigade if his chariot of choice was called something even his elderly Grandaunt considered too pansy ? Or to the businessman/ politico who had to not only arrive at meetings, but arrive in style, pomp all with a dash of desi bred machoness.That is where the Ambassador with its politically correct name came to the rescue.

My virginity (driving) was surrendered to the graceful lady quiet willingly, my first to seventeenth crashes/accidents were in an Amby, was part of few races (locally organized miniature rallies really) and won the first prize in one !!! (mio padre was driving of course), even went to see the girl I was about to marry in a Mark 4. Won her over by saying that her curves allured my eyes more than the curves on the car. She had to say yes blushingly as expected, as this is a line used in my family over generations to win over brides. My father used the same dialogue and got to hold the hand of my mum in matrimony and the original line was conceived by my late Grandfather though he had only the Morris Oxford (the foremother to the lovely Amby) as a comparison.

It’s been over 10 years since I laid my hands on the Ambassador, we have moved away from the heavy truck like steering, the non adjustable everything ambiance, the cavernous interiors and the smell of diesel wafting up from a heated engine to tickle one’s nostrils, the foggy interiors on a rainy drive, the occasional breakdowns and once a week tire puncture to the climate controlled comforts of Japanese and Korean cars, but the traces of wistfulness remains.... Like the other day I saw my father looking at a black Swift Desire which wafted by... with a twinge of shaky emotion in his voice and nostalgia in his eyes he said to me “ Da doesn’t she remind you of the old Amby” ? Seeing no recognition in my eyes he prodded “at least her malnourished cousin”? I took a second look without my glasses and yes, with the backdrop of a setting sun and dust billowing from the road in her wake, the departing kundi (arse) did look slightly familiar from afar.

That is the spirit of the old girl. She was hard to live with, harsh of nature and was a coarse peasant when compared to the glories which waft about and farts only Oxygen and water, but the old lady had style.

Note: The author of the above article is in no way endorsing any car or brand and has not received any remuneration towards writing the piece. He was of reasonably sane persona at the time of writing the piece.
Austin Bobby Vadayatt

Levitation (fiction short story biography comedy)

The picture was taken on 22nd August 2013. Result of a childhood urge turned obsession which fructified on that special day. No trick was used while the shot was taken by my brother in the presence of friends and family. I assure you, no alterations have been made to the picture. It is as you see it. Please read on, because even if some of you know me for years, this might come off as a confession....... Thanks
Introduction.
Levitation from the latin word ‘Levitas’ meaning lightness is the process where an object is stably suspended without any physical contact against gravity.
Then there is levitation which involves a human body gets suspended in the same manner. The act has deep spiritual roots and was commonly mistaken as a ‘Trick’ and of late has become synonymous with Street magic. Magicians like David Blaine and David Copperfield have brought it for the purview of the Smartphone toting public.
The search.
There has been mentions of the act in different religious orders ranging from Buddhism – Where Buddha levitated over water to Christianity – Where Christ walked on water and his ascension to heaven and Hinduism – Siddha yogies who could levitate at will, but what caught my attention when i was a little boy was the completely fictional character of the levitating Buddhist monk in Tintin in Tibet. I am sure most of us are aware of this lovely character who rises up in the air and has the gift of clairvoyance.
This character born off the fertile imagination of Georges Prosper Remi (Herge) was my guiding light throughout the years and pointed his magical finger towards Tibet as the place where I can learn more about or maybe actually learn to do this amazing feat.
My next prompt came from David Copperfield, the famous magician who so glamorously flew across the grand canyon, much to the exaggerated gusto of his beautiful assistant. But then, he was a magician after all and I was a teen then and trying to disbelieve everything is kind of the job description for a teen.
When I was studying in Bangalore for my degree, i came across a name more tangible than a figment of imagination or an entertainer. St. Joseph of Cupertino who is also known as the levitating saint a deeply religious man who graced the 17th century, he was prone to ecstatic bouts of spirituality which would make him levitate without warning. Because of this, he is considered the patron saint of Air travelers.
The internet was widely available (mid 90’s) and I put its vast resources to use to search about the phenomenon and that is how i discovered Vajrayana, an offshoot of Tibetan Buddhism. My imaginary monk was pointing in the right direction after all. Practitioners of this tantric path to enlightenment could do astonishing feats including levitation. My correspondence with a few kind souls in Tibet guided me to the purest souls i have ever come across, a Tibetan monk who had made Bangalore his home whose name i cannot disclose as the path requires this to be a secret.
The Teacher.
The Teacher was a man of few words and did not encourage my pursuit of levitation at first. He thought (rightly) that i was trying for an alternative route for transportation. After months of follow-ups and kind words thrown in by my friends from Tibet, he agreed to have a meeting with me. Not much was divulged about his past life, but for the fact that he was one of the forces behind the establishment of the Tibetan colony in Kushal Nagar, Mysore.
We agreed to meet over the next few days to discuss the practice and to check the application of Vajrayana to my single obsession. My father, who has an open policy towards religious practices gave me the go-ahead to pursue this passion of mine. His condition was that I should finish my degree and then devote one year (only) to the pursuit of flight as he put it.
Soon after my degree was over, I went back to Bangalore and immersed myself in attempting to study the ancient order of Vajrayana. The Teacher was an adroit taskmaster who made me see the futility of studying levitation without knowing how the Chakras affect the body and soul and as a reflection, the surroundings. We delved deep into an ancient world and its time tested but not well known philosophies. I learned yoga and practiced to control my mind to attain the deep meditative state which is a requisite of a seeker of perfect enlightenment.
Seven months we continued on this routine and I was nowhere near my materialistic requirement. My Teacher’s family was supportive but apart from my father, no one knew what I was doing. Even my siblings nor my friends were aware of what I was doing. The constant pressure of leading a double life was getting to me and I started to skip the sessions even when the meditations took me to a spiritual level I had never before experienced before. So in all the naivety and impatience of youth, I slowly discontinued the practices and parted ways with The Teacher. It surprised me at that time that he did not show any disappointment at my inept behavior, but in his way of not using too many words, he assured me that I am on the right path and I will attain what I wanted if I persist. I took this the wrong way, I thought he was glad to get rid of my pestilence and my ego did not permit me to keep in touch with him afterwards.
The Rekindling.
Years passed and I finished my MBA, started working, got married and became a father. All this while, I kept up with my practice. Everyday a small amount of time was spent meditating at the most unusual places, while travelling, while waiting in an office and especially, those few moments before sleeping were my escape from this plane to another where ancients dwell and mysticism floats.
And then, about eight years after I lost touch with The Teacher, the trip to Coorg happened. We were visiting relatives in Coorg and went to the Tibetan settlement in Kushalnagar mainly to gorge on the delicious momos prepared by the settlers. But as we reached the settlement, we caught the sight of the Buddhist pagodas and I was drawn in. The next few hours were spent admiring the architecture, the ornate gates, the elaborate statues and the huge murals on the walls.
From outside, a deep and long haunting wail snapped me to my senses and I saw for the first time the famed Tibetan horn. In a huge prayer room next to the main temple, there sat about fifty monks in two neat rows chanting and clanging their cymbals. I was not exposed to all this mainly because I had never visited a Buddhist monastery till then and again, Vajrayana treads a different path compared to Teravada or Mahayana paths of Buddhism.
A gentle tap on my shoulder shook me out of my reverie and I turned expecting to see my impatient wife holding a howling one year old. But it was The Teacher. Looking calm and serene as the last day I met him. The years added lines to his face, but they also increased the circle of radiance he possessed. He smiled at my dumbfounded expression and just nodded his head in acknowledgement. Before I could splutter, he drew a circle in the crisp air of the monastery and pointed at my heart. Then he pointed at my family who were shopping in the Tibetan supermarket adjacent to the temple. Another smile and some sort of genuflection later, he joined the throng of monks inside the monastery and I never saw him again.
Fruition.
From the day I met The Teacher, I have visited the monastery at least three more times and have not been able to meet him or get his whereabouts. But meeting him made me look through all the notes and photocopies of the books he had given me. My quest was still alive. I was repossessed with the passion I had before and I plunged into the path of enlightenment once again with an abandon I never had before. All the excuses I made earlier disappeared as time seemed to collapse for me to do my job, spend time with my family and friends and spend time on meditation and practice.
It has been seven years since my life was turned around for the second time. This time I was not trying to achieve my singular goal of levitation; I was in it for real. With the absence of a teacher, I became an autodidact and poured through texts on Vajrayana for adding the strength and stability it gave my life. I started spending the energy I withdrew from the universe; spending it as a blessing to the people I used to meet. This practice enhanced my abilities to absorb the universal energy in a faster rate. The energy never left me; it was getting replenished much faster than I could expend it.
Then came the precise moment when I knew the time had come. I just knew it, I was in my ancestral home in Pala for holidays and the entire brood was there. I just asked my brother to grab his camera and start shooting. Stood outside in the sun, closed my eyes and concentrated on being one with the energy, concentrated on giving it all, all the good will and positive vibrations I have with me visualizing the receptive portals of my being opening into huge vortexes absorbing and replacing vibrations both good and bad and replacing them with positive vibrations. This was new. This was another level - I knew it. I was inside, the doors had opened and I was where I wanted to be. To be the giver. To take in the bad and give out the good. This was the knowledge I was seeking. This was the simple truth the holy men conveyed. I could not see or hear anything, but through my closed eyes, i could feel happiness spread through the people surrounding me. And I understood why my Teacher drew the circle in the air the last time I met him. I smiled, suspended on air. A smile of contentment.
The picture was taken by my brother while I was levitating; I have no recollection of the incident.
Caution: Meditation of this path should not be attempted without the presence and guidance of a knowledgeable master.
Thank you for reading the story; it is a work of pure fiction published on my Facebook page. This work is dedicated to you. You who had the patience to read the entire 1802 words here.
Note: Vajrayana is one of the paths of Buddhism. The levitation part is a work of fiction.