Even god is human...

A day after God swore in as himself – a ceremony supervised by him and few angels – came the time to delegate portfolios. The criterion was simple. Divinity. Since there was no accepted scale to quantify, and since qualification would result in apocalypse, God decided to create a jury. It comprised of him and well… him. The ones with the most astounding of supernatural abilities received the most coveted disciplines. There was plenty of divine intervention on display. Fire breathing, storm catching, ocean parting, etc. But Medusa the little fairy beat them all to the best on the list. It was an offer he couldn't refuse. She gave him a cherry.

(courtesy: bonsaiz)

was, is and will

I have been tagged and have been asked to answer a series of questions. I have done that meticulously. Thank you for rolling me on Cris.

Here is the result:

PAST

What are your oldest memories?

There used to be an old Tamilian lady next to my house when I used to toddle around as a 2-year-old. I used to frequent Mami's (as I used to call her. For that matter, as everyone used to call her) house along with my mom, or rather on her shoulders,. I remember Mami’s face, but more distinctly, the aroma in her house. It was a put off then, and it is a put off now. It scares me. So much that, it is the only smell I ever get in my dreams, rather nightmares.

What were you doing ten years ago?

I was inventing new hobbies to get through my 10^th standard study holidays. And by around January, I picked up carom. And yes, during my free time, I did browse through a few text books.

PRESENT

What did you do today?

Switched off the alarm thrice before getting up. Racked my little brain over the launch of a fashion brand that needed a revamp. A few minutes of cynicism and a little session of introspection about the usual ‘meaninglessness of life’ thingies. In the pot of course.

What is up for tomorrow?

I will wake up late with a bad hangover. I will roll around in bed for at least 15 minutes figuring out excuses for not going to work. Another 15 minutes filtering out the ones I haven’t used before. Another 15 minutes picking the best out of them. Another two minutes trashing all of them and getting ready for work. In case you are wondering, the remaining day will be spent cribbing and abusing the people responsible for making me work on a Saturday.

FUTURE

Where do you see yourself 14 years from now?

Quite possibly, I might be dead by then. But then again, I wear glasses for myopia. I can’t see much farther into my present. So future is a long shot.

If you build a time capsule what would it contain?

A lever to destroy it the moment I am done with it. A notepad to jot down the details of time travel. Another lever to get it back to the exact same frame of life from where I began my journey. A few bottles of absinthe. Marilyn Monroe’s address. A mobile phone with network connectivity across ‘time zones’ and a contact list with everyone from everywhere. Yet another lever for destroying it while I am at it.

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I am tagging Remya, Revati, and Anand. And yes Manu too. Don't know whether he will care. But too good a writer to be left uninformed.

The wrong key

It had been a long and tiring night. All of them were. Mad car chases, endless alleys, pools of blood and gun fights. Life of a homicide detective was far less glamorous than on the reel.

He almost fell off as he scampered out of his new SUV. He leaned against the wall for support as he slithered up the steps. He had come across many a tough opponent during his crime fighting days. But this one was beyond anything he had faced before. He, or maybe she, was as good as he himself was.

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The hour hand had done three full circles since she sneaked into his flat. She removed the magazine from her Walther and inserted it back again. For the umpteenth time. He wasn’t on her agenda until last week. The nosey bastard, she thought. He had asked for it.

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Half way up the stairs, he was still struggling with the facts of the case. Seven random people, all decapitated, in a span of just two weeks. It was a week before the first of the bodies was reported. The killings had begun much earlier. The only thing linking the murders was the severed head. On his way out, he had asked his secretary to pull out anything related, from over the last three decades. The serial killer theory was as good as established. It was too early in the day even for copycats.

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She had heard the car screech to a halt in the parking lot. Almost ten minutes had passed after she caught a glimpse of him crawl out his car and head for the stairs. Still there was no sign of him.

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The lock would just not budge. He removed the key from the keyhole and looked at it closely. Darn, the wrong key. He had left his bunch in his car. He smiled at his stupidity and cursed the hectic day. He began his hesitant crawl down the stairs, back to the parking lot.

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Was there someone at the door? She strained her ears. Yes. The wait was over. It was time. The knob turned. She got up and fired thrice at the figure. It slumped to ground with a muffled groan. Job done. She hopped over the heap on the floor as she headed for the stairs.

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Down in the parking lot, a pretty looking girl in tight fitting leather clothes hurried past him, almost knocking herself down. By the time he turned to demand an apology, she had disappeared. “Bitch,” he swore. He shook his head in frustration as he knelt down. The door of his new SUV just wouldn’t yield.