Woman: "I am going to make you drink a whole lot of rum and make you do things which you would otherwise refuse to."
Man: "There are many consequences to excessive alcohol consumption - hallucination and oral disembowelment to name a few. But FYKI, hypnosis is definitely not one of them."
(courtesy: bonsaiz)
There are times when some very amusing thoughts strike me. Blame it on a lack of imagination or my sheer inability to articulate, I end up losing them in the ruthless quagmire. And hence I decided to start a new blog as a dedication to those thousands of dead and stunted flashes. I decided to call it bonsaiz – in reference to you know what. The bonsaiz blog resides at http://bonsaiz.blogspot.com.
After a few posts, reconsideration and suggestions from friends, I decided to kill bonsaiz and continue with this blog. But there still remained a part of me in love with the whole concept . As a result, every time I write one for bonsaiz, it will be posted on bonsaiz, as well as this blog. So while this blog shall benefit of and poach from bonsaiz, bonsaiz will remain an unscathed, often updated and a fully-functional mini-clone.
Prison walls have memories written all over them. There are those of joy, of agony, of bereavement and of fulfillment. However, the ones most deeply etched are often of remorse. They are written in bright red. So bright, that every time you read them, your eyes hurt. The one that read ‘the fateful afternoon’ was scorching. It almost burnt his heart.
He did not utter a word in his defence throughout the trial. He was not bothered. His relatives had arranged for the best lawyer in town. The prosecution argued vehemently about the psychopath he had turned into after his break up. How he wanted revenge. How he sneaked into her house and shot her mercilessly. He did not even nod his head. Even at the verdict. For him, it was all over on that fateful afternoon.
He woke up from his trot down the memory lane at the creaking of the latch. He walked like a zombie towards his execution room. The last meal left untouched had turned cold. There was no room left for anything. The executioner looked to be eager to finish his job and head back home. He empathized. So did he.
He looked at the priest with cold eyes as he read out the prayers for his soul. He closed his eyes in prayer for a moment and then opened suddenly as if in some realization. The executioner looked at the clock and gestured towards the jail superintendent. It was almost time.
The veil fell over his head. He felt the darkness spread from within. Now it was uniform. His world seemed to be in synchrony with his mind. He smiled. A smile nobody else in the room saw; and even if they did, would never have understood.
One nod of the head met another. The noose tightened. The rope loosened. A wooden platform slid. His neck cracked. Muscles stretched. The last struggles of the soul before it left its mortal home. The doctor pronounced him dead at 03:14am. Justice was done. Good prevailed.
Miles away, inside a room that witnessed that same fateful afternoon, a few pages fluttered in the early morning breeze. A pen rolled lazily across. The words on them had not been completely buried by time and dust. Specially the last ones. The ones that read, “and therefore I go.”
It was a girl's voice that answered the phone. After a moment of hesitation, I introduced myself. She sounded pleasantly surprised! A brief session including the exchange of each other's whereabouts followed. With an option to call her during a later hour, I hung up.
I knew Shahana through a roommate of mine from
She was preparing for her final exam when I called her the second time. I made no secret of my intentions of meeting her. Surprising me yet again, she readily agreed. Strange for a Muslim woman, I thought. Even stranger was the picture of mine I had painted. The me whom she knew was nothing but a bundle of lies I'd spontaneously cooked up; me who was a business analyst with an exorbitant pay packet; me who was the only son of very rich NRI parents; who drove 3 expensive cars; and was a lot of things that an innocent small town girl trying to make a living in Bangalore would dream about in a guy. Oblivious to the truth, she had agreed to meet me.
The day of the meeting arrived. It was a Saturday. The proposed venue was the
I caught her by surprise by whispering her name from behind. She was startled. She panned me with her eyes from head to toe. She grinned. For two reasons – my appearance had pleased her, and second, I was wearing nothing like what I'd made her believe. She gently slapped on my shoulder followed by a gesture with her lovely eyes. The blame game, the fuss, and the patch up were all over in one sweeping movement of her eyes.
We took our seats towards the corner of the shop. She was lovelier than I had imagined. The features were sensual. The cheek bones, the dusky skin, the glittering and unusually sharp canines. There was something amorous even in her silence and the giggle she occasionally let slip through her pursed lips. Despite my persuasion, she refused to eat or drink anything, but a glass of water. I was beginning to like her. I wanted to tell her the truth. The romantic fool. But some tinge of sense from an evil corner of my heart prevented me.
A couple of hours passed. I was completely entangled in the spell of this lovely woman. I had to break the world of pretense I had created around her. After all, I was falling in love with her. How could one be untrue to a woman one was falling in love with? Ignoring the constant calling from the evil corner, I opened my mouth. "Shahana, I…," I started. Interrupting my confession, her phone rang. She excused herself, walked a few feet away and started speaking on the phone. I noticed an unusual stream of life flow into her. She was throwing regular glances at me, and giggling. I even noticed a blush despite her dark complexion.
She returned to the table a good fifteen minutes later. I looked at her with curious eyes. "Was it her boyfriend she had just spoken to?" I wondered. As if she could read my mind, she said, "Don't worry. It was not my boyfriend." A sigh of relief followed from my side. She giggled again at my expression. Though the joke was on me, I joined in. It was more of an effort to get over the embarrassment. The giggle turned into a laugh. And then into a frenzied roar. I was almost falling off the chair when she stopped laughing, for breath. I looked at her, through welled-up eyes. She gasped for one final time before she said - "It was Shahana."
