Those moments

Your experience reflects mine. This is precisely the reason why I stay away from meeting newly married couples. Because eventually they will be made to tell their story. And their story reminded me of mine when Ajith and Prerna were telling how they met at a common friend's house on the day of Holi last year.

As they were telling their story, I could not help but take a ride to the past. This was three years ago. It was about six weeks since I met Samhita for the first time in the park during my morning run. The spirit of holi was in the air to the full extent, I could already find patches of colours in the park while I was waiting for her as I would every day. Gaudy purple and dark green. Pink and orange. I pictured in my mind how the park would look colourful and muddy the next day - the holi day. There were these three girls jogging in the park, and I was staring at them absent-mindedly when Samhita came. Narrowing her eyes yet smiling with them she said "I know what you were doing!" when I was about to give her some reason. I was always good at giving reasons, and she was always good at ignoring them. We slipped into a discussion as we started running. On politics, on music, on philosophy, on little nothings. And like any other day we had our share of arguments and disapprovals and were at peace by the time we finished our run. I loved to see her angry, and made sure to get an opportunity everyday. We said our byes for the day.

Holi Colour Cloud, Source: here

As she was walking away, I slowly followed behind her with a handful of gulaal. There was a momentary hesitation as I was not sure how she would react but I had decided to smear pink colour on her face. I was so unsure about what I was doing and I could hear my heart thumping loud. Worried she would turn around listening to that sound, I went ahead quickly. I could feel her soft cheek as I smeared the colour and my heart only thumped louder. For a moment, I wondered if she used Ponds face cream as her soft cheek reminded me of the googly woogly woosh commercial. I could see the anger in her eyes as she turned around. Infact she was very angry and quick to respond. She took the remaining colour powder from my hand and smeared on my face with a cunning smile, and said "So, are we ready for tomorrow?". That smile, I could hear saying to myself I know that smile and a broad smile spread across my face too. Its the moment that make you believe everything cannot be more perfect in the world.

The next morning, we had more company in the park. It was a larger crowd, enthusiastic and colourful. I could feel the spirit of holi in the air. And there she was, ravishing in white kurti and pajamas as she walked into the park. Armed completely with colours and a couple of pichkaris, its a complete contrast from her usual casual pony tail. Her hair was oiled and carefully bunned. She looked different yet elegant, her face glowing in that morning sunlight due to the obvious layer of cream. I was awestruck and froze like a statue looking at her until my vision was blurred due to the colour powder she threw at me as she came closer. As the yellow colour settled, there she was standing right in front of me sporting a cheerful childlike grin. The grin you see on a children's happy faces when their parents boast about the naughty things they do. After a little while I could not believe myself that the original colour of Samhita's dress was white. I could not recall how time passed by while playing with colours in the park that day. You do not observe and analyze when you are at one of the best moments in your life. You just live them and you are seized by those moments that make you forget the world around. And, may be I tried to live the moment with Samhita that day while playing holi!

Even today, it is memories like these which bring a smile on my face even in the times of distress. For our memories are the only wonderland from which no one can ever stop us ruling it.

P.S. Another attempt to continue the story further. Happy Holi everyone!

The Beautiful Smile

Previous - 'Meaning of Life'

Sireesh was able to perceive the changes around him in that room but could not control even his eyelids. To assert that he was not in a brain dead state, doctors would occasionally hook his head to MRI and scan while asking questions to watch the response of his brain cells. They would also try to monitor his brain's activity by opening his eyelids and placing an object infront of his eyes and make him track it.

As a kid, being born to a doctor couple, he always thought he would never have to go to hospital as his parents can take care of any health issue he would encounter at home itself. But, fate took a fatal turn for him. In the early days after his hospitalization, Sireesh used to have frequent visitors. His friends and well wishers. They used to talk endlessly with occasional breaks waiting for a response from him. But it was like a bad cellphone conversation where you would hear the person on the other side and realize they could not hear you. As days passed by, there were no visitors except his mother.

"Ma! The most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Strong, graceful and selfless as ever. The smile on her face when I asked her about their love story! The pride in her eyes when I became the topped my class. The tears on her cheeks when dad left the world. The fear in her look when I was hospitalized." If it were not for her, he would just have been a subject of experiment in the hospital and nothing else. Everyday she would read for him in the night even though she didn't have a clue if Sireesh was listening or not. "She never knew that was how I differentiated between day and night. Ma! Do you hear me?"

There was not even a single day he haven't thought of being normal. Of being able to take care of his mother rather than his mother taking care of him. He was bound in invisible shackles, which he could not break free from. Even a prisoner on life sentence would get a cell for himself, but all Sireesh could get was a 6.5x3 ft bed. "Can I just not break free from the darkness that surrounds me?" Sireesh let out a loud roar only he could hear, for all he could do was cry in his heart.

The Mystery

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 17; the seventeenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

"You'll end up dead or incarcerated, but you'll be looked up by everyone." The words Pete uttered before his oath resonated inside Bret as he hung up the phone.

With a semi-automatic, Bret headed to Pete's place. It was dark. Unusually. As he entered, Bret heard a click behind him. He knew what it was!

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Life & Death: One Frame At A Time

Earlier during 2008 - 09, I was doing a series of fictional short stories about a character called Sireesh. For every episode of the story I wrote, I tried to introduce a sense of incompleteness into it so that it could be continued in a different part.

Given the time since I've not pondered on that story, my ideas on it got a bit rusty. With this post, I'm trying to motivate myself and also thinking of encouraging my blogger friends to help me with ideas on continuation. I'm also open for a guest post on it if you wish to give it a good continuation. Waiting to hear from you on this. And here are the posts in order -

I. That Night

II. Pitiful State

III. The Death

IV. Meaning Of Life

Source: Link

Catch the spirit, share the magic!

Vee

26th August 1967

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 15; the fifteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

26th August 1967
Alston locality, Cumbria, UK

I'm not sure if I should consider myself lucky for having an opportunity to learn from the oral arguments in court. Oh boy, it was stressful. After such a day, I'm glad I took a day off from my Professor and colleagues and made it to this place from Durham. Alston, at it's location above sea level is a busy market place I must say. It is a small and scenic town, and is lovey this time of the year. As I wait for my train back, I sit on this bench and cogitate what a beautiful day it was. "Every moment is an experience!"

How I wish I had a chance to speak to that young lady I saw this morning. A beautiful young lady she's. She has got those big expressive eyes, the kind that sweeps you off your feet and make you feel like you are getting lost as you look into them. If only I had enough courage to barge in and initiate a conversation instead of silently sipping my coffee at the stone built Angel Inn. No wonder they say, "Good judgments come from experience and often experience comes from bad judgment."

Magnificence of seven centuries stood around me as I walked inside the St Augustine church, although majority of the church came down a couple of centuries ago. It has colourful stained glass paintings, but the one handed clock left an impression on me. It reminded me of the lines written by Henry Van Dyke for Katrina's Sundial - "Time is too slow for those who wait, too Swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice; but for those who love, time is eternity". And we try to overcome our mind and it's perception of time, with our clocks ticking one second at a time. But, this one handed clock ticks only once in 15 minutes.

An old local businessman joined me during lunch. It was him who suggested me to try the famous Alston Cheese. Having learned that I'm a student from India studying law, we discussed various popular cases in the past few years. He studied Philosophy about 30 years ago and he fervently discussed how he wanted to do remarkable things in his life but could not. Is it really hard to break out of the cocoons we build around ourselves and to come outside our comfort zones to do what we really want to? After all, I'm not my job. "A musician must make his music, an artist must paint, a poet must write if he is to ultimately be at peace with himself."

Enjoying every bit of the natural beauty and Pennine landscapes, I walked to the Alston Train station. I could not resist using my expensive Polaroid pack camera to make a pictorial memory of this beautiful station. Quite old but an elegant brick structure designed artistically only to enhance the beauty of the nature that surrounds it.

As I finished reading the last word of the yellow wrinkled page from my dad's diary, I looked at the photo deeply. With every page I read, I get a little more close to him and it makes me much more happy that he wanted me to know him. Know him, and the world through his eyes, his ideas and his ideals. I still remember the day he told me how Alston and his experiences here were so important to him. And how he didn't let my mother go after he saw her for the first time in Bangalore in 1973. It still brings a smile on my face when I think of my dad's adventures in getting his lady love. He was my hero, and he still is. Here I'm in Alston on a cloudy and cold beautiful October evening, to experience live what my father has experienced more than 40 years ago.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective postshere. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. can be checked

Credits
Image - Alston Station by Wandering Soul
Courtesy - www.deviantart.com and www.northumbrian-railways.co.uk via www.blogaton.in

Impression that wouldn't fade

Frozen Memory

Of her radiant beauty

In that morning shine

They say its a small world, but is it really? Certain memories never fade out, they make an indelible impression on you. Those little chats during morning run time, and those endless discussions about likes and dislikes. Its been more than two years and I still feel the same sense of void. All it needs to figure out the turbulence inside me is one rendezvous, for I'm not sure what it's all about. Samhita!

For the next three months, every morning I would go to that park in Jeevanbheema Nagar. I would also not forget to cross by her house on my way back and from work. Later, I moved from Bangalore to the US. But it isn't easy for me to move on from her thoughts. Every morning I plug-in my iPod, the same one I used while jogging in Bangalore, and start for jogging. But, going on runs doesn't interest me anymore. I just find a chair in the park and get lost in thoughts.

"We can express these meanings in many ways... through art, music... or dance", she said panting while taking small strides in the park area. 

I just nodded giving my affirmative smile and said, "Yeah!"

"Mind..... begins.... expectation..."

Not all the words she would speak enter my head, as I used to get lost looking at her expressions and excitement she would show while making a point.

"Interesting"

"By projecting our ideas..............", after a pause she said, "Why don't you something more than that? Are you listening?", giving me that look and smile. Ah! That smile.

That was our last conversation as I remember. She would talk a lot about human mind. May be she studied psychology. Sometimes about music, and I would talk about my guitar classes. She was more the melody types but I think she also followed pop. Definitely an intelligent and confident girl who knows what she wants. Thinking of the petty arguments we had still brings a smile on my face. She would walk away after an argument, only to show up the next day at the usual time. I always suspected that she faked her anger, but never had a chance to ask her.

With increase in the use of Facebook and Orkut, I make it a point to search the word combination "Samhita Sharma" every once in a while only to not find any relevant results. At times the thought of something fateful happening to her also crops up in my head, and that gives me shivers. May be I will come across her soon sometime and get a chance to ask her the reason for turbulence inside me. After all, its a small world. Isn't it?

P.S.: An extension to my fictional work I posted more than two years ago - "One fine day"

Also for

Night in the woods

She could hear his heart beat amidst the sound of ticking clock. Fifteen past one, she could not sleep thinking of their happy moments.

The faint noise in the woods turned into heavy ramming of their cabin's door. A solitary tear and a drop of sweat trickled her cheek as she mumbled a silent prayer.

P.S.: This is my first attempt at 55 Fiction - a short story in less than or equal to 55 words.

Meaning of Life

Previous - 'The Death'

Snapshots of people he care for were flashing one after another. His mother. His late father. He could feel the air being sucked out of his lungs. There was no resistance, he neither had energy to resist. It was all happening. And a young beautiful girl with sharp intent eyes. Maya!

Seeing her in his memory was like finding a long lost photograph of something which made a permanent impression on him. It all ended 2 years ago. Since then he could not even remember how she looked. All he rememebered about her was the lessons she taught him about life. Maya!

Ever after his dad died in the road mishap, some sort of darkness crept inside him. He was not able to handle the sudden loss. He could no longer concentrate on his studies and he started avoiding the social part of his life. Maya was their neighbor then. Having heard about him from her mother, she befriended him. He was no more lonely. She visited him daily during the evenings and spent time with him. She taught him about positiveness. The attitude to deal with things no matter what happens in life. She made him realize the important role he should play in keeping his mother happy. She became his motivation and inspiration. She was his angel. But, little did Sireesh know about her suffering from Epilepsy until the irreversible happened. She had a seizure which ended longer than the usual during her sleep, long enough to pull the life out of her. He went to the hospital and saw her, lying lifeless just infront of him. He didn't cry. She was his dad sent angel who taught him about life.  And it all ended two years ago. 

Sireesh wanted not to close his eyes. A solitary tear trickled down his left cheek and made a mark on the white pillow cover as Maya's voice reciting the lines from Martin Luther King's "I have a dream" reverberated in his ears. He wanted to cry for Maya, but he couldn't. He fell unconscious.

Next - 'The Beautiful Smile'

the school boy

It was one of those fine mornings right after the summer break. I was getting ready for my school wondering what good would this new academic year offer me. I almost always had negative opinion about school and that strengthened after I was punished by my class teacher exactly a year before when I was in my class One. Then, I was not sure why she had to punish me for what I did. I later learned that’s what one would call difference of opinion, she considered what I did mischief and I felt it’s absolutely normal to make the little Aina, my bench mate, sit on my slate every time I wanted to clean it. As a matter of fact, Sonia Miss was a cute lady, and I used to like her teaching style. And the other reason being, I was not sure in what way all this learning would help me with my life, wondering if this schooling is important, wondering if my mom and dad also went through all these phases and wondering why school had to be so early in the morning at 9.00AM.

With all the heaviness in my heart, I dressed myself in the school uniform - maroon shorts, white shirt and a matching maroon belt and tie with all of them, save my shorts, having my school name embroidered. But why should a school have uniform? I was this kid with lots of questions, and with all those I could have easily made my parents mad. But the questions were all unanswered as they were never questioned. I was this silent kid who rarely speaks a word to people around. I once overheard my parents asking my elder brother Vikki if something was worrying me, and if he knew the reason for me being so silent. Vikki simply shrugged and left home for a cricket match when his friends started shouting 'Vikas, Vikas…' standing at the door step. All that left me wondering again if being silent is abnormal!

I was done with my breakfast after my struggle with those two hardest pieces of deadly idly for around half an hour. I collected my bag full of books which rarely made sense to me. And went to the living room which had a curved wall full of cabinets decorated with flashy toys and decorative ware on which I never laid my hands. Beside that was the framed picture of Lord Ganesha. I made a practice to wish him good day before I go to school every day. As always I felt a strong need for repaint of the curved wall as I could never escape seeing the color after wishing Ganesha bye and I developed this belief that looking at the dull green color of the wall makes my day dull. Then I would go find my shoes in the corner near the entrance to living hall, and head to one of the most difficult work tying the shoelaces. My mom made sure to untie my shoelaces every evening I return back from school, so that I would tie them every morning. She believed that tying shoelaces would serve as an exercise to my little brain and would make it sharper. It did may be, maybe not.

I would wait for my rickshaw to come and pick me up to school. On seeing the rickshaw at the far end of the street, I would utter a word for the first time in the day 'Ma, bye'. A quick response came back in the familiar shrill voice 'Akki, take care', from the kitchen as she would be arranging breakfast for Vikky bhayya. Until dad bought him a new bicycle when he turned 10 last year, Vikky bhayya used to come along with me in the rickshaw. That same day dad promised me that he would buy me one when I turn 10 as well. Still, two long years to go! Ashwit, the one with fat thighs, Munna, the round faced and Rajni, the little ill looking girl with running nose were my rickshaw mates. All I would do in response to their 'Hello Akhil', 'Good morning', 'Hi Akki' was to return a sheepish shy smile without a word.

But something was not good. May be I was ill. There was a deserted muddy road which should be crossed on the way to school, and something made me feel things weren’t good every time I reached that part of my rickshaw ride to school. There was something following us, I would look around to see the faces of others around but none seem to be bothered. This same feeling used to come to me again and again.

My pulse started increasing, and I was sweating profusely. I was afraid, afraid as hell gathering all my courage to see who’s following us; following us with the hissing sound, scaring the hell out of me. I was gathering all my courage to make my boldest move, to turn around and look who or what’s following us. I was shocked to see what’s following us; it was around 15 foot long and looked real big with lower half of its body on the ground and the other half as vertical as a man could stand. With its hoods facing us!

 Hell no! The more I told my mind not to believe in what I saw, the more realistic I felt of everything around. It was a golden brown colored multi hooded snake, the scariest thing I ever saw moving real fast towards us. I felt as if my heart was beating faster than it could, making me afraid it would break down. My shirt was totally wet, my mind taking me places, my heart pounding and my whole body aching. The last thing I could remember seeing was the monster real close.

Everything went dark, ‘Is it the end?’ was all I said to myself and woke up from my bed to see Vikki lying beside me. And said to myself ‘the same one again! It’s the same dream since past 4 years’. Today, Vikki is going to residential school 200 miles away from my hometown. I remember crying to sleep last night, I felt stupid to cry even though I grew 12, ride bicycle, and watch horror movies. But thinking of how alone I will be after Vikky bhayya leaves, I couldn’t control myself. Vikky, my bro, I will miss you.

(to be continued...)

What was that

I was looking for a dead man who had been buried over a century ago. Searching the graph network of all the graves in the second depth-first method in decreasing order of the finishing times of the results of the first depth-first search, I visited all the vertices of that component graph in topologically sorted order. And then estimated the downstream nodes' delay as the flow of traffic information in the direction towards the moon from each of the nodes, and measured the experienced delay of the downstream nodes. Wait, am I to remember Floyd Warsall? Screw them, this is my world and I make my own algorithms. But, am I too civil to books? Is that a dead person who had not been buried at all? Is that a royal female mummy with a raised right arm. Is that Nefertiti? I dream a lot! 

PS: What the fuck have you done lately?

The Death

Previous - 'Pitiful State'

"Live my life too son!" Amidst the whirring sound of the fan in the otherwise calm room Sireesh was lying on his bed. Lying motionless. Though he could follow sleep wake cycles and was able to open his eyes, he could still not make any slightest movent. Those were the last words his father spoke to him from his death bed after the road accident. Dr. Harish never knew what was waiting for his son. Deep down his heart Sireesh was feeling very sad for what had happened to him. He was sweating profusely and his entire body went shaking for a few minutes and Sireesh fell unconscious for almost one complete day. After he woke up, he found a new bunch of bottles being injected into his body. Doctors were asking him not to think of anything, though they were not sure whether he would be able to hear what they were saying. He was gazing blank at the rotating fan.

"Ek do teen char band karo ye atyachar", he remembered the way he shouted along with his friends during the cultural programmes in his college days. And he remembered the way his father used to feed him food when he was little. His mother praising him when he stood class first when he was young and his teacher punishing him for forging his marks card when he scored less than what he used to always. His dying father and the incident which got him to this state, everything was flashing. Frames of all these incidents were flashing in his mind one after another. All this left Sireesh wondering "They say every moment of our life flashes in our mind just before we die. Am I dying?"

Sireesh started feeling sick. He could feel his stomach muscles churning inside. "Am I dying?" The question still remained unanswered. He felt the answer will be in affirmative which he strongly wanted not to be. He started thinking again "I am supposed to live my dad's life too, am I dying? Who will take care of my mom? How will she react when she finds me dead in my bed?..." He was in a conflict of thoughts and suddenly Sireesh was not able to keep his eyelids open anymore. May be it's time, he was dying!

Next - 'Meaning of Life'

One fine day

One fine day early at 5.30 in the morning with my iPod plugged I started my run on the roads of Jeevanbheema Nagar partly afraid of the stray dogs, a major problem in every area of Bengaluru. Those were the days when I was preparing for my 20K run. After a little warm up I started my run by entering into a near-by park where I can run without any apprehensions about the wild bites from stray dogs. And there is nothing quite like the cool breeze you feel on your face as you run early in the morning. After doing many rounds in the park, to break the monotony I started running on the roads around. I thought of giving up and reached back to the same park after one hour of continuous running where in I would have covered nearly 11 kms, but the view my eyes were offering made me run further.

That was a beautiful girl clad in black track pants and tee. She came out of her house, opposite to the park, just then and started her run. I was damn tired and it was really difficult for me to run, but my legs weren't feeling any pain. They were just running behind that girl. This way I ran behind her for around a kilometer and in order to avoid any misapprehensions from her side I overtook her and continued my run. Shez damn beautiful, thats all the description I could give you about her.

After five minutes, I heard a very sweet voice from my behind saying "Excuse me!".

I turned back to find her to sitting on the ground holding her left ankle. It was she who said 'Excuse me' and yeah she did call me. May be for some help. Whatever be it, the 9th cloud was occupied (obviously by me).

"Can I be of some help to you?" was all I said very courteously.

"I hurt my ankle."

"Let me see that... Are you new to running?"

"Yeah. I'm!"

And I helped her in removing her left shoe and sock.

"I guess its a minor sprain. A small massage near the ankle will relieve you of your pain."

She tried massaging herself but couldn't do properly afraid of the pain.

"Thats not the way. Can I help you out?" I said, partly eager. ;)

"Yeah, please."

How would I explain you guys that experience? As my friend says, its a life time experience.

After 2 minutes of ankle massage, "Any better?"

"Yep, much better!"

"Cool, try walking a bit. Let me help you", helped her in letting her stand holding by her shoulders. Was partly wondering if its all real.

"Thanks"

"Is it still hurting?" "Nope, much better now." "Able to walk?" "Ye I am"

"Thats cool. Do take care while running. Make it a point to stretch your leg muscles before running."

"Ok, I will. Thanks for the help."

I grinned and said "Anytime" and was about to continue my run to hear "Can I know your good name?" I could hear my heart beating faster and saying 'Ofcourse' 'Sure' 'Why not' out of sheer happiness but my mouth was not giving any answer to her. Finally with lot of difficulty, forgetting all the multiple answers my heart my giving, mumbled my name and made it a point to say "Yours?"

"Samhita Sharma"

"Thats an interesting and a very sweet name."

"Thank you!"

And we started running together for a while and took a break. Talked a bit about general things and then backed towards the park where her house was situated. She showed me her house from outside, thanked me again for the help, bade me bye and entered her house.

For the next 3 months she was my running partner. Every morning, we would run together and we would talk anything and everything, sensible and senseless, useful and useless. Later after that I could not find her coming for the morning runs. For the next one week she wasn't there. I started feeling a sense of void and was gradually losing interest in running too, because of her absence. During this time, I realized my interest for her and turned bold enough to enter into the house Samhita showed me the very first day we met. I was told that the Sharma family stayed in that house for past one year for rent and 2 weeks back the entire family moved to a different house, probably to a different city. Contacted the owner of the house to enquire about Samhita's father but little did I find about him.

Sad thing was we never spoke to each other about our personal lives. So I knew nothing about her apart from her beautiful face and her wonderful ideas. We never even exchanged our email ids. All we did was run together. Hope to see her some day.

PS: Purely a piece of fiction. Had never been so lucky to meet a girl like this.

Pitiful state

Previous - 'That Night'

Have you ever felt how it will be to get trapped inside a wooden coffin? Have you ever imagined your situation where you can see and listen what is happening around, but no one can hear what you speak or you are paralyzed to speak? Have you ever felt the pain of not being able to express what you feel or what you want to the people around you? Well, its not much different from a patient who is in Persistent Vegetative State, where in the patient can't respond to things around him, even with the slightest body movement.

On receiving utmost care and best treatment, ten months after that fateful night, Sireesh showed slight improvement. He would now follow sleep-wake cycles, occasionally blink his eyelids in response to his mother's words, who takes care of him. Doctors don't feed him anymore with the food pipe, his mother would sit beside him for hours and feed him spoonfuls of some liquid stuff along with the regular dosages of potions suggested by the doctors. But, the reason for his breakdown is still a mystery. He would stare at the ceiling of the room in which he rests, may be thinking and reminiscing about what happened that night. All he can do is think, but not tell about that night to the people around him. Had eyes got the ability to express completely, we would have known what happened that fateful night; but in this state Sireesh's eyes can only roll tears down his cheeks every now and then!

Sireesh was born to a doctor couple, Dr. Harish Ramanathan and Dr. Saritha got married with their parent's consent after falling in love with each other while doing their doctor practice. Dr. Harish died few years ago in a road mishap and since then Sireesh's mother took his complete responsibility, and she is terribly depressed with his son's pitiful fate for which the reason is still not known. Her only wish now is to see his son fit and completely healthy someday!

Next - The Death

That Night

It was a pleasant night with cool breeze and full moon up above, the silence occasionally broken by the whistles of the patrolling watchman; a pleasant sight of the ever busy city. Dressed in his usual khaki shorts and black sleeveless tee Sireesh was on the terrace of his 11-storeyed apartment with the iPod plugged to his ears. But he was not his usual self that night. He was restless. Damn restless.

It was his usual routine to party hard on a Saturday night, and without any exception he followed his Saturday routine on that day too. With all the enthusiasm he danced in the Eleventh Cloud pub till 11 in the night along with his friends and then had some gala time at his friend's place. It was 12.30 AM by the time he reached his apartment and Sireesh was really tired. He tried to sleep, but couldn't. Something was bothering him. He then plugged his iPod, headed towards the elevator and went to the terrace.


Despite the stunning view of the city with all the sky scrappers surrounded by roads flashing with the street lights, Sireesh was deep occupied with his own thoughts. Suddenly Sireesh felt the iPod was not singing anymore, the sky pitch dark without any moon and the entire city dark without even a spot of light. Next morning, Sireesh was found unconscious near the terrace wall in a very awkward position. His face leaning, his hands clenching, finger nails scratching the wall as if resisting himself to jump from the top of the apartment. When rushed to the hospital, the doctors after many hours declared Sireesh to be trapped in permanent vegetate state, that is permanent coma.


Next - 'Pitiful State'

Hope

Yet another day started. The 76 year old Omar Ahmed al-Obeidi had the habit of continuing with his routine after Fajr, namaz from the break of dawn until beginning of sunrise, by going to Mecca masjid in the old city of Hyderabad which is just 2 kms from the place he lived. After reaching home from the masjid, as a part of his routine went through the newspaper. It was dated 27 October 2050. He was surprised to see Iraq making news in the page one. Iraq is a country with important news almost everyday but never makes into the page one. Not that people dont want to read the news of violence and bombings, but its considered common. Iraq was a society with lots of experience of violence - almost half million soldiers and civilians died in war with Iran in 1980s, hundreds of thousands were slaughtered on the orders of Saddam Hussein in the 90s and lots of people died in the Sunni-Shiite sectarian clashes since the downfall of Saddam where both Sunnis and Shiites were fighting for their power. But this news was completely different from all that happened before. On reading the main heading of the news tears were rolling down Omar's cheeks and he mumbled "At last" and recalled how he landed into India from his motherland Iraq.

It was sometime around July 2006 when six year old son of Omar asked his grandfather in an apprehensive tone "Baba, why do shiites and sunnis kill each other?"

Omar's father answered "Beta, the Islam religion was founded by Prophet Mohammed in the seventh century. He founded the first Islamic state, in Medina, a city in western Saudi Arabia near Mecca. After his death, the muslims formed into two branches.The Sunni branch believes that the first four caliphs are Mohammed's successors and only they can rightfully take his place as the leaders of Muslims. Shiites believe that only the heirs of the fourth caliph, Ali, are the legitimate successors of Mohammed. Some years later, the supporters of Ali killed the third caliph. To this the Sunnis reacted by killing Ali's son Hussein. This is how the war started."

"But beta why do u ask me all this?"

"My friend's father was killed by Sunnis yesterday. I am afraid they will kill us also."

"Dont panic beta, Allah will take care of all of us."

Just four months after that, Omar's father went to meet his old Sunni friend in a small restaurant in a Sunni community in Baghdadh. Suddenly there was a harsh sound of explosion outside the restaurant . There were bloody torn body parts clad in burned pieces of clothing everywhere; nearly 17 people killed and many injured. Omar's father was one among them who went to help the injured. And then the second suicide bomber triggered killing all the previously injured and many more who were trying to save the injured. That was how Omar lost his father in a warning attack done by Shiites on Sunnis. No one attended the funeral procession of Omar's father as mourning might also prove deadly. Those days were famous for Shiite funeral processions being attacked by Sunni suicide bombers and Shiite militia attacking Sunni's wakes.

"26th October, Wednesday, Geneva: The United Nations today released the results of survey for this decade at 10:00 AM in the morning. Usually its countries like Singapore, Malaysia or Thailand, which are tourism based countries, stand first in the survey but for the first time Iraq is in news about .....". Omar's mind was rolling with his past experiences. He remembered how the fake identity card which he got for 35$ then saved his life. One day when Omar was going in a car along with a Shiite friend, they were stopped by a checkpost. They were Sunni insurgents dressed in Iraq Police uniform, as it was not difficult then to get Police uniforms and badges. They were stopped by a gory looking person, who must be the head of the people at that checkpost, and were asked for their identity cards. From the photos of Imam Ali stuck to the checkpost, Omar realized that they were Shiite policemen. So he pulled out his fake identity card reading "al-Hussein" as his tribal name, the common Shiite tribal name and he was safe. But unfortunately, Omar's friend didnt have his fake identity card, and he was dragged to the nearby shiite mosque by them. Three days later, his body was found with 15 holes from an electric drill.

With all this getting worse day by day, Omar Ahmed decided to leave Iraq, though he had the hope that it would all get better some day. Omar, a widower, decided to settle in Jordan along with his son. He started for Jordan in December 2007. Omar was accompanied by many more Iraqis to Jordan, but the Jordanian airport officials didnt allow Iraqis into their country and were all sent back to Iraq. Finally in April 2008 with the help of a influential person in India, he flew to India along with his son. But he never shed his hopes, the hope for a better motherland, hope for an Iraq with no violence and no clashes. Gradually as the time passed by, the war between Sunnis and Shiites subsided.

"At last" he mumbled again, "At last, my hope came true". He could not control his happiness and his heart slipped a beat. The newspaper flew from his hands, and his heart never fluttered thereafter. The newspaper read "UN declare Iraq the safest country for this decade".

In Human, All Too Human , philosopher Friedrich Nietzche had this to say about hope:

Hope. Pandora brought the jar with the evils and opened it. It was the gods' gift to man, on the outside a beautiful, enticing gift, called the "lucky jar." Then all the evils, those lively, winged beings, flew out of it. Since that time, they roam around and do harm to men by day and night. One single evil had not yet slipped out of the jar. As Zeus had wished, Pandora slammed the top down and it remained inside. So now man has the lucky jar in his house forever and thinks the world of the treasure. It is at his service; he reaches for it when he fancies it. For he does not know that that jar which Pandora brought was the jar of evils, and he takes the remaining evil for the greatest worldly good--it is hope, for Zeus did not want man to throw his life away, no matter how much the other evils might torment him, but rather to go on letting himself be tormented anew. To that end, he gives man hope. In truth, it is the most evil of evils because it prolongs man's torment.