Superhero

 A Humor Tale, this time

When Ritesh jumped to grab his cheque in flight, and went flying up to the ceiling instead, it was good fortune that it happened in the air-conditioned room of a hotel. There was no fan to crash into when he gave his inadvertent imitation of a bird. Good fortune for the fan that is, as later events proved.

Ritesh had certainly had no thoughts of defying gravity. He did hail from the capital of India where, to most, any given hour is wasted if they have not defied some law or the other. So defying the law of gravitation should have been all in a day’s work for him. Ritesh, though, was unused, as yet, to breaking even man-made laws and had certainly never set his sights as high as to defy the laws of physics. And, yet, here he was opening his account grandly by defying the law of gravity.

Stunned by what had happened, not least because he had banged his head on the ceiling in the course of his aerial maneuvers, Ritesh sat down to think. As usual, confronted by the seemingly impossible, the first solution was ‘It is a dream.’

Pinching himself proved that, if it was a dream, it was a damn painful one.  Ritesh tentatively tried to fly again…and flew. Braking himself by banging his head on the ceiling proved as painful a process as the previous time.

Was he…could he…really be a super-hero? He had always assumed that those blokes went through walls and smashed up buildings with not even a coating of plaster marring their costumes. The headache he was developing did not gel with that image. But then, which heroic image - in the movies especially - was not a product of literal and metaphorical photo-shopping?

Feeling his head gingerly, he could see no signs of bleeding or contusions. So, maybe…

By the time he returned to Delhi, he had already found that he could outrun a car, even without the benefit of a traffic jam; could really smash through a wall, even if he needed cold compresses all night after that; and could toss around weights like he was the android version of one of those Transformer machines.

It must have been the thought that he was in Mumbai, where ‘Do you know who I am?’ does not have the same visceral impact that it does in Delhi, which made him choose deserted roads and parking lots for his experiments.

There was one question that needed sorting first. Who were his real parents?

* * *

“Where is the space-craft that brought me to Earth?”

Ritesh would have been the first to admit that this was probably not the best way to have broached the topic with his parents and he deserved everything he got after that.

“So you are no longer the fairy prince left here in exchange for our real son?” said his dad.

“THAT was when he was six. The last one was that he was an amnesiac God.”

“Ten years back was it not? I had thought that he had resigned himself to being the scion of this ordinary Kukrety family and now this…”

“You have to grant it to him. Whatever his grades show, he has learned something from school and college. Now his theories are more scientific.”

“I suppose it is a saving grace that he does not think that we abducted him and deprived him of his exalted heritage.”

“Thank God for small mercies.”

As it usually happens, the only people who were enjoying this Pat and Mike show were Pat and Mike…err…his mom and dad. Ritesh was fuming but anger had not made him lose what passed for his mind, yet. After all, he had not ALWAYS had these particular superpowers and, thus, had had time and the necessity to develop a bit of thinking ability.

It would have been too easy to demonstrate his powers but…It is only in the movies that parents would leave their children free to go around saving the world. In the more mundane here and now, though…

“Ritesh! Shift that bed over to the other room, beta! The living room looks better that way. You can move it back at night. It will be no problem for you to do it every day.”

“Ritesh! Get the vegetables, beta! With your X-Ray vision, you can pick the best ones, without worms or rot.”

“Ritesh! Use your infrared vision to cook this gravy. That way we will never need to buy extra cylinders at full price.”

“THAT’s a neat idea! Ritesh beta, can you heat up the water for the bath after this? Saves electricity.”

“Think beta! You MUST have some powers to cool the house. Find out before summer. These A/Cs just gobble up power.”

“Ritesh! I am late for office. Can you just fly me to office?”

“Drop me also, beta! Err…not literally, of course.”

Ritesh shuddered. No way was he letting them know about his powers. Unless he wanted to become a sort of combination mobile heating device, magic broomstick, vegetable picker and general handyman. AND if the matter leaked to more of his family and friends…

But…he had not tested his vision. Did he have that X-ray vision? Could he focus a heat ray? After all, it looked like there really had been no space-craft, so how could he assume he had all the powers that the superhero of the movies did? Even assuming that the movies had got it right.

When he tried his X-ray vision on the streets, he was a shade disappointed. Or, maybe there was really no need for the disappointment. Considering the people who were around, the bones probably looked a lot better than what he would have seen if X-ray vision had worked as he thought it would.

The heat ray experiment taught him another lesson. It might have been better, after all, to not look at your new Samsung smartphone when you tried it…and found out that it worked.

With the advent of all these powers, Ritesh was conscious that he did not possess the right costume. He had thought that these superheroes also got their costumes along with their superpowers but, apparently, that was not the way it worked…not for him, at least. It seemed silly to have to deal with tailors for this purpose but it was necessary. A man is only as good as his dress, after all, and THAT applied to superheroes as much as men, if not more so.

Having placed the order and getting the assurance that he would get it tomorrow (“Fancy dress competition, required urgently”), he was feeling so full with his own news that he thought he would burst.

Oh! To have all these powers and not be able to share with anyone…

There was always Simran.

* * *

There is something about this strange emotion called love which drastically interferes with the workings of what people call intelligence. It is almost as if they are mutually exclusive. If the former enters the door, the latter jumps out of the window.

Which is what accounts for the fact that Ritesh decided to confide in his girlfriend Simran about this sudden transformation in him. One can only wonder about the power of love, considering that no qualms crossed his mind about being forced on jaunts to Switzerland overnight or even being held to impossibly high standards in the matter of noticing nanometric changes in attire or make-up.

The quality of trust can be strained too far, though. So, it was no surprise that Simran showed no inclination to swoon in his arms, screaming, “My Hero!” and, instead, started sniffing suspiciously.

“No! I am not drunk.”

“Dry day in Delhi?”

“Let us not get into that, Simran! I really HAVE those powers.”

“Are you well?”

“If being able to fly, lifting ten tonne trucks and boring holes through mobiles by looking at them counts as being well, I am.”

Snorting can be very expressive, as Ritesh found out. Especially from women, who seemed to have taken special training courses in the art of the snort.

“You do not believe me? Let me show you”, said Ritesh, after cautiously assessing that there was no-one else to watch him at it.

Up he flew to the top of the nearest tree. Standing poised on a branch he waved at Simran, looking at him incredulously, and flew back to her side.

“Now do you believe me?” he asked, triumphantly.

Simran blinked twice and peered at the tree.

“Where are the ropes and all?”

Ritesh was infuriated.

“Pick your own spot. I will show you there.”

Simran looked at him uncertainly. Then there was a seeming glimmer of comprehension.

“You are hypnotising me, are you not?”

Ritesh goggled at her. He could not help it, though he knew it would make him look like the village idiot trying to understand the theory of relativity.

“NOW I understand”, Simran said and a chill shiver went down Ritesh’s spine. THAT was the tone of voice which said that the corpses of past misdemeanours were about to be dug out and hung up on display in all their gory splendour.

“I used to wonder…every time I went back home and looked at your pic on my mobile, I could hardly believe myself. That of all the boys in my life, THIS was my choice of boyfriend! Yet, when I am with you, I never have doubts. You were always hypnotising me…”

Ritesh was aghast. He had been bracing himself to apologise for all the wrongs of the past; take responsibility for everything ranging from the traffic situation in Delhi to the ISIS massacres but this…this…words failed him.

“See you, Ritesh! Or, rather, goodbye and good riddance.”

* * *

The next day dawned no better. He woke up to the sound of his mom saying, “Rise and Shine, O Prince of the fairies! Or is it the Emperor of an Alien Civilization, this morning?”

As usual, his first act of the morning was his phone, where he discovered that Simran had vanished like the dew in the morning from every place on Social media, as far as he was concerned.

To have to travel to NOIDA to meet someone and chase that up with a visit to Mayur Vihar was not exactly his idea of the proper way to mourn his losses. It had to be done, though and, as he morosely drove his car, he was so full of self-pity that it sloshed whenever he hit a bump on the road. The sight of the package on the back-seat - his new costume - only caused the self-pity to leak through his eyes.

If anyone had asked Ritesh, as he was driving back in the evening, about what had happened during the day, all he would have received was a blank stare and, perhaps, some indeterminate noises that would resemble gargling rather than conversation. The sound of a crash roused him from his dazed state. He found himself on the Nizamuddin bridge and saw that a bus had crashed through the side supports and was contemplating a swan dive into the Yamuna. The busload of passengers were screaming, no doubt apprehensive about getting a totally unnecessary bath in the depths of winter.

The supine superhero in Ritesh woke up. Maybe it was the destiny of heroes to do their miracles and receive the praise only in their alter egos, while their day selves vanished into the anonymous masses. THAT, probably, was why the fates had destined him to be disbelieved.

Even as he was hastily changing into his costume, he could hear a chopper heading towards the bridge. For one moment, the usual urban attitude asserted itself in him – someone else would do something about it, so why bother. Ruthlessly crushing this unworthy thought, Ritesh flew below the bridge and under the bus. Passengers were screaming wildly at him, no doubt exhorting him to save them. He pushed the bus up. THAT was easy but he had some trouble finding the exact manner in which he had to exert his strength to push it sideways and back onto the undamaged portion of the road. Apparently, this superhero thing did not automatically grant dexterity in addition to strength – one of those things the movies seemed to gloss over. He somehow managed to push the bus back to safety, with the passengers providing the background music which is so necessary to make any scene tense.

Sneaking back to his car and changing back to his regular dress proved way more difficult. He managed the feat, when all the attention was focussed on the army chopper which hovered for a bit and, after finding the bus safely back on the road, flew away.

Ritesh drove back home with a much warmer feeling in his heart. Nobody may believe in his powers; his parents may think of him as an intellectually challenged kid of ten; his girlfriend may even now be cuddling her new boyfriend but, today, he had saved a lot of lives and those people must be remembering him in their prayers.

As he parked the car, and was about to enter the house, the words from the news bulletin floated out.

“In a daring rescue, the Army saved the lives of a busload of passengers. An experimental magnetic device was put to use to haul the bus back to safety…”

What???

“While the lives of many hung in the balance, an attention-seeker clad in a strange costume was seen doing acrobatics under the endangered bus. This is what Dhivya, whose life this man put in danger with his stupidity, has to say…

‘The bus was hanging…and this man was doing acrobatics. His weight could have pulled the bus down, you know…we screamed at him to go away…he waved like a crazy man…someone said he could be a superhero trying to save us. He wasn’t. He was just a nutcase.’

‘Why do you think so?’

‘I have seen superheroes. His costume told me he was a nut…’

‘What in the costume proved it?’

Ritesh was flummoxed when he heard the answer. Instead of being a hero to them, he had only become a clown or a nut. He entered his house morosely and started walking up to the terrace, which is where he allowed his self-pity to water the plants, generally.

“Looks like someone has taken your favourite superhero”, said his dad.

He grunted and walked up the steps.

“If you are looking for Batmobile, should you not go to the basement?”

It was too much. Ritesh rushed up the stairs.

He looked up at the cold stars and bellowed, “Is it fair?” He had become a clown instead of Superman all because of one small change in the costume. He just could not bear to wear his briefs over his leggings.

So be it. He would make a small change to the best known superhero’s name and make it his own.

He screamed to the uncaring universe,

“I AM SUPRAMAN!”

A modern Utopia?

"I want everyone to be able to have food, clothing, shelter, education and medicare", said the Humanitarian.

"So be it! Let the brains of the world unite and work to that end", commanded the Lord of the Cosmos.

And long labored the brains of the Cosmos. Yet, amongst them, there was dissent about how best to achieve it. And, of course, about what was in it for them.

"There needs be recompense, lest the brains remain idle rather than work to the benefit of all", said the King.

"Yes, your Majesty! AND, of course, without profit who shall set up and operate these organisations?" quoth the Minister.

"Be it so. Let the fruits of their labors be sold at profit to those who can afford them"

And time rolled on. Mightily strove the brains of the world and wonders were created. Those who could afford sought more and more conveniences. Those who set up organisations chasing profits saw more in providing those conveniences than in providing food. AND thus...

"What do we do if the Lord asks us for progress? Most people do not yet have bread." wailed the King.

"If they have no bread, let them have free WiFi", said the Queen.

"They cannot afford dresses or houses, either"

"Give them affordable data", said the wise Queen.

"Education remains a dream to them."

"Give them free entertainment."

And thus it was.

Long and hard, day and night labored the world. WiFi was free, data was almost free, entertainment was cheap, the world was a paradise. AND, still, the masses carped about what they did not have, mundane things like food, instead of counting the blessings which the wonders of technology had provided.

"Is there no end to the demands of these people? Has thou a solution?" demanded the King of the Minister.

"A wise Roman once said 'Give the masses bread and circuses and they are happy'."

"We have given them the circuses. It's the bread that is the problem."

"Blame the Lord of the Cosmos", said the Minister.

And so it was. 

A Christmas whimsy

The last bell jingled and he climbed off wearily wiping the sweat from his brow (in the North Pole!). He had no breath left even for one 'HoHoHo!'

Being stuck with distributing toys to children, and going 'HoHoHo' while doing so, had seemed so much fun when it all started. But, then, those had been times when children actually hung up socks at night and eagerly opened them in the morning; and were actually joyous to see a top or a wooden horse in the morning. Ever since they started saying, "Eeew! I wanted a clockwork train not this nasty old horse", the fun had started draining out of his life. What was the point in being Santa Claus if he could not make children happy?

If things had, at least, been easier to do, it would not pinch so much. Earlier, all he had to do was to squeeze himself through various sizes of chimneys. Now...with mortals having dispensed with all chimneys, except where they kept them on for ornamentation, he had had to squeeze himself to the tiniest of shapes in order to do his delivery job. Yes...it had just become a job now. It was no more fun.

How could it be fun, anyway? The time was when what he delivered were toys...bits and pieces of fancy and fantasy with which a wonder-struck child could create its own worlds; its own games and its own fun. Now, though, what he was handing out was cookie-cutter fantasies into which a child would lose itself, without ever knowing the multitude of unknown fancies that had died still-born. What he now gave were no longer toys for children. They were the sort of games that adults played, except that, when adults played, real people suffered and/or died.

He sighed again, his mood quite at odds with the festiveness of the season that he represented. He really should not be brooding like this. It was just the thought of all his artisans now lying idle. With the sort of toys that now spread happiness, it was no longer possible for him to be making any of it here. Bulk orders on Amazon and FlipKart had replaced the busy toy factories of Santa Claus. Learning to place these orders on what the mortals called the Internet had occupied all his time during the rest of the year.

He pulled out a toy from his pockets. The mortals called it a Smartphone. He looked at it gloomily. This year he would have to spend learning to use this toy. It seemed likely that, some time soon, he could not place orders without using what they called Apps on these Smartphones. It was hard, hard and so uncaring of the elderly, for these chaps to keep making changes that made him have to strain himself every year.

Then his face brightened. Anyway, the children of these times played with adult toys; did not really care much for bells or reindeer. So, why not just ask these Amazon/Flipkart blokes to directly deliver the toys, appropriately packed in socks? Santa smiled...that would make it worth having to learn all this App gobbledygook.

Now...to figure out what to do with the sled and the reindeer...

Before that...time for one last...

HOHOHO

He was a nice man

"Hey! Not coming to the party tonight? Heard that you are saddled with an urgent job?"

"I am coming, no fear! I will request Akash to make this presentation for me."

"This is the fourth time this month that you are tapping him. Will he agree?"

"He is a nice guy. He will certainly help."

* * *

"Amma! I want two months salary in advance."

"You cannot keep asking...."

"Nitu! Give her the money. Where will our servant maid go in an emergency?"

"Akash! I don't think we should..."

"It will not bankrupt us, Nitu!"

* * *

"My Dad has been hospitalized. Can you do my presentation for me? I need to go to the hospital."

"I wish I could do it for you, Akash! But I am already tied up with urgent work."

An hour later

"Akash did your job so often and you refused today. If he sees you now, leaving for home, do you think he will help in future?"

"I would have helped him if I could. But I had so much work that I had to sit half an hour longer at office. I would need to sit another couple of hours to do his job. What can I do? Akash is a nice guy. He will understand."

* * *

"We need you to come early in the morning and just do the dishes. We have to go to the hospital."

"Amma! I cannot. The corner house lady will yell at me if I come fifteen minutes late."

* * *

"You know what? Akash has become nasty these days. Can you believe it? He refused to help merely because he does not want to sit late. And I thought he was a nice man."

* * *

"I thought that the middle house lady's husband was a good man. Can you believe it? I asked him for only one month's advance and he refused? And I thought he was a nice man."

Goldilocks and the three bears

There is a lot of fun in messing up with existing stories. To be sure, though, I am not too sure that I can do it here on my blog.

"Time to book a place in the cemetery and the old fool still plays around with fairy tales." I can almost hear you say that. So, what do you do when you have an urge that you cannot scratch? Find a place where you can.

Thankfully for me, my good friend 'The Fool' runs a blog - Three Realms of the mind - dedicated to Science Fiction and fantasy and is currently putting up a series of rewritten fairy tales. There I went to scratch my itch and this is the result.

Little Bear on Goldilock's Visit

Make a wish

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 40; the fortieth 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. The theme for the month is "MAKE A WISH"

Why is it that I get so easily deceived? Anyone with a sob-story can lay claim on the contents of my wallet - so much so that I sometimes feel like an ATM machine where the con-men come to swipe their sob-stories and make away with my cash. Whenever I seek something from someone they find it so easy to lead me astray conversationally that I end up forgetting what I came to ask and leave wondering what I had come to them for in the first place. If only I could make a wish and rid myself of this problem..

A bottle with a milky-white gas inside materialized in front of me.

"Open it, let the genie out and ask it for your wish", whispered a voice in my ear. So engrossed was I in my own problem that a disembodied voice speaking in my ear seemed quite natural.

How clichéd!  The moment you start talking of wishes, you end up getting a genie in a bottle. They could have, at least, switched over to cans whoever they were.

Shit! The bottle was corked. The last time I tried to open a corked bottle - wine it was - without a cork-screw, which I anyway did not have, it was no fun at all. The screwdriver I tried on it chipped this end for a while and, when I tried to poke it through, it ended up pushing the cork into the bottle. Now, I do not know what the current fashion for genies in head-gear was but I had a suspicion that a chipped cork on the head would not be the latest attraction in any genie fashion show.

I picked the bottle up gingerly and laid a hand on the cork to test how tight it was. The cork slid out smooth as silk and the room started suddenly filling up with smoke.

"Hey! Enough with the special effects. Can you do something less corny?" I bleated.

"You dare complain of corny? For how long are you guys still going to be bottling us up - like some soft drink or beer? Can't you think of anything more inventive if you have to do it?"

"We did try lamps and rings."

"I was talking of something more spacious. Such cramped accommodation where we have no choice but to turn to smoke in order to feel a wee bit comfortable and you have the gall to complain? What did you expect - frothing champagne?"

By now the smoke had coalesced into a shape that filled most of the room. It was I, now, who was feeling distinctly cramped for space. The leering gargoyle of a face and the massive mass of the rest of the body made me want to recede as far as possible - but the wall got in the way.

"Listen!" I said weakly "I did not put you in the bottle. Anyway, I thought you were supposed to grant me a wish"

"And that is another thing. First you bottle us up and, then, in return for the generous favor of being released we have to grant you a wish in order to go free? Is that fair?"

"But..." I interjected weakly but the genie was not listening.

"Anybody would think that we were some sort of wish-vending machine. Species stereotyping is what I call it. And, unlawful incarceration. It is time that we djinns got together and started an agitation against this discriminatory behavior"

"Listen genie..." I tried to get some control of the situation. There was a dull throb north-northwest of my eyes.

"Huh? Genie, Genie! It is Djinn you idiot. You cannot even get our species name right. And what do you mean calling me genie? You even call your dogs by names and you do not have the common courtesy to seek the name of a sentient being?"

The dull throb in the head was sending out shooting pains.

"Ooh! Just go away. Get lost"

"Is that your Wish?"

"I am not just shooting off my mouth to hear my voice. Of course, it is my wish" I yelled.

"Your Wish is granted"

The genie vanished with a boom.

Uhoh! Cheated by a genie, too!

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. Participation Count: 12

Heaven in Hell

“Take care of these nitpicking administrative details without bothering me, He says”, muttered the Gatekeeper with an apprehensive look upwards. “It would be easy enough if these mortals really believed that the ways of the Lord are unfathomable. Unfortunately, they say it and then proceed to try and fathom them. What is worse, they actually believe that they have fathomed them and who is saddled with the job of providing them the Heaven that they think the Lord promised them? Me!”

Sometimes the Gatekeeper envied his nominal subordinate - the Hell Warden. It was so much easier when your job is to keep your charges unhappy – they were much less likely to be very particular about the way in which they were made unhappy. For example, the Hell Warden had no problems about souls refusing to be unhappy because they were being deep-fried in oil rather than roasted in fire. Keeping people happy was near impossible. People – even after death – were so finicky about what would make them happy.

The Gatekeeper sighed. Time was when there were almost as many versions of Heaven as there were people and he had been run ragged trying to satisfy all of them. Providing Valkyries for one lot, houris for another, tournaments for a third and dealing with accusations about differential treatment had been Hell in Heaven for him. That lot of souls had been transported out (and only the Lord knew where – the Gatekeeper made no pretence of having fathomed His Workings) and, now, things had settled between clouds-and-harp, navel-contemplating and houris. He had expected the sinecure to last but now this!

What in Cosmos was an Internet?

* * *

“No Internet here and you call this Heaven?” The voice of the latest soul to enter the Portals of what the souls called Heaven echoed in the Gatekeeper’s mind. Jagannath -call me ‘Jack’ – had just about finished the orientation course and this was his reaction. The Gatekeeper had made the mistake of assuming that he would settle down but his constant complaints and extolling of the virtues of the Internet had created so much discontent that he was now forced to deal with the issue.

“What in Cosmos is an Internet?” asked the Gatekeeper of Jack. Before Jack could even draw in a breath, the Assistant Gatekeeper chimed in.

“Boss! That is the latest craze in Hell! You know the mandatory one hour of fun enforced in Hell? Well! The Hell Warden introduced Hellnet and it has caught on like…” his voice trailed off after he belatedly recognized that the light in the Gatekeeper’s eyes was wrath and not approbation.

“So! Even Hell has the Net but Heaven doesn’t? What sort of inefficient system are you guys running anyway?” asked Jack.

“God save me from eager-beaver subordinates”, thought the Gatekeeper. Now that Hell was known to have what this impetuous soul wanted, there was no choice but to provide one here as well.

‘So be it. You people can put in place a Heaven-Net”, said the Gatekeeper. Somehow, he had the vague feeling that his troubles were just beginning.

* * *

Heaven-Net, 3G mobiles, Apps! The place is abuzz with words that he had never heard of, thought the Gatekeeper. The Gatekeeper was complacent, however. From what he understood of the Net, this craze would peter out soon. After all, there was no money and no individual relationships in Heaven, which seemed to negate most of the uses of the Net. Further all knowledge that souls treasured were not applicable or even interesting since there were no nations, no wars and no trade disputes.

The thing that seemed to have taken the place by storm, however, was something called Soulbook. Souls from all over the place were exchanging messages with each other.

“I am so happy today”, said one soul. “So am I” commented another. “I am happy too” said a third.

“Never thought I could play a harp so well”, said a previously tone-deaf soul. “Neither did I” said another.

“Clouds can be truly comfortable to lie on”, said a relaxed soul. “Quite! Fluffy and soft” said another.

Souls exchanged audios and videos of their harp-playing and cavorting on clouds. They exchanged games like Ascending-the-cloud-ladder and Navel-contemplating. The Gatekeeper waited for this craze to peter off.

As indeed it started doing. After all, after you have read the fortieth comment about how happy someone is, heard the sixty-seventh great harp recital and read about the comfort coefficient of the clouds for the zillionth time, it is difficult to raise any enthusiasm to switch on the mobile and start reading the same things all over again. The souls had started to realize that when everyone is happy and equally as good at everything there is actually nothing exciting to communicate.

Before the Gatekeeper could rest on his laurels, however, catastrophe struck! Jack had hacked into Hellnet and, even though their audios, videos and apps would not open or work in Heaven, messages from their Soulbook became available.

Excitement, somehow, seemed more preferable to happiness for these modern souls!

* * *

Jack was back again.

“Look at these messages from Hellnet! “Being sautéed today”! “Beelzebub coming over with a nice salt-and-pepper dressing for my burns”! “Today two imps missed me with their pitchforks! Yippeee!” How much fun they seem to be having! Looks like that is Heaven and this is Hell!”

“Ever heard of gallows-humor?” asked the Gatekeeper, wearily.

Jack seemed not to have heard.

“How about this game - Become Hell-Warden? Seems so interesting. Apparently there are six to seven levels with prizes for completing each level. There are so many comments flying about this game. The games here are pathetic. Why can’t you get that game here?”

“That is not allowed. We cannot have games of violence and unhappiness in Heaven”

“Censorship in Heaven! I would never have believed it. Looks to me like I have to go to the consumer court about this. This place does not live up to its billing”

“I am the only judge here”, said the Gatekeeper nastily. His patience was at an end.

“We will see about it. Let me put out a message on Soulbook and you will have an uprising of souls like you have never seen here before. We will see who the judge here is then.”

The Gatekeeper was aghast. Never had he faced a situation of a Heaven-full of souls in unrest. Something had to be done about this.

“Look, let us be reasonable. You think that Hell will be more pleasant for you than Heaven. I will try to arrange to transfer you to Hell. You, on the other hand, should remain silent about this whole matter”

“Done!” said Jack. After all, why should he not get what he wanted? The other souls seemed content enough with things here unless they were stirred up. Who was to know if the rebellion he stirred up would not peter out if the Gatekeeper was firm or wily enough to procrastinate?

“I give you one last chance to reconsider. Things that are interesting when talked about are not enjoyable when experienced.”

Jack looked at the Gatekeeper disbelievingly.

“All right! I will arrange for you to go to Hell soon. If within a month you choose to come back, you can. Else, you will be a permanent resident there”

“I will never come back!”

Never has more certainty been shown than when one is talking about something that one neither knows nor has any reason to know!

* * *

“What is in it for me?” asked the Hell Warden.

The Gatekeeper was in no pleasant mood. He was irritated with the Hell Warden for having put in place this Hellnet and setting off the whole issue. His assistant, who had accompanied him, was another source of irritation with his ill-advised enthusiasm for the Net.

“Would you like to spend some time as an inmate at your place?” he asked silkily. With a meaningful glance at his assistant, he continued, “I have someone who is eager to take your place.”

Both of them blanched at the thought of what an angry Gatekeeper was suggesting. The Gatekeeper smiled inwardly with satisfaction. Keeping a multitude of souls happy was not a job that you could be happy in and you had to take your satisfaction where you could get it.

Three days of stubbornness was all Jack could manage before he was back in Heaven. No matter how galling the thought of admitting his foolishness, it was not worse than what Hell had done to him in those three days. Playing Becoming Hell-Warden was fun and sending and reading interesting messages was exciting. It was what happened the rest of the time that did not bear contemplation.

“Believe me guys! The only thing Heavenly about Hell is the Net. The rest is sheer torture” said he with a shudder.

The other souls looked at him disbelievingly.

And then there were none

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 36; the thirty-fifth 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. The theme for the month is "and then there were none"

“That looks wonderful”, said Ajay eying the frosted beer bottles greedily and licking his lips. I mean he actually licked his lips.

I know we are all accustomed to using such phrases metaphorically but Ajay seemed to believe that the actions described in books had to be enacted. Accounts for the fact that he is yet to find a girl-friend though he was in the final year of his engineering, I suppose. Girls do like to be considered attractive but what girl would like a man literally drooling all over her?

“Good! You have enough! We can make a night of it”, said the artist of our group. Sanjeev had none of the dithery absent-mindedness of the artist stereotype which showed in the decisiveness with which he opened a bottle and poured the contents into his glass.

“Where is Rajiv? Stuck in some meeting as usual?” asked Sridhar as he hastened to fill his glass. Now this one was a nerdy caricature of the IT man to look at but a veritable vacuum cleaner when it came to drinking.

Rajiv came stamping in. “Pour me one guys! I need one to get rid of the stink of your streets, Vinod. The garbage collection in your area is the pits!”

“What can we do, Rajiv? We have been to the municipality often enough but nothing much seems to happen”, I said.

“That’s the problem with the middle class. Always the someone-should-do-something-about-it syndrome” said Rajiv.

“Yeah! True! No matter how much you gag as you walk the streets, you will not do a thing about cleaning it up”. By the realistic gagging accompanying the statement, a blind man could have recognized Ajay.

“Actually, this street looks great for a modern art painting. If only you did not need to slip and slither on all sorts of waste”

“Guys! I am going for my second one” Sridhar said, in line with his single-minded pursuit of mopping up the beer.

“Say, guys! If you are all serious, we could ourselves do something about this mess. Ajay! Can you get a couple of friends over from college to help?”

“I…I…Say, is it 9 PM already? My parents must be getting worried. I gotta go. See you guys”

Shell-shocked was not the word for it. Hitherto whatever had floated on top of the beer with Ajay, it certainly had not been filial piety.

“Sanjeev! You have that newspaper friend, do you not?”

“Who? Hey…I forgot. My son has a maths exam. Got to coach him. Bye” That from the man who has to put in torturous mental effort while adding two and two and still manages to get four only one time out of ten! There was one kid who would radically reinvent mathematics for the future generations, if he was getting coached by Sanjeev.

“Rajeev…”

“Shit! You know Vandana does not much like these sessions of ours.”

I had always known it but I had not known that he knew it too – at least, it had not shown in his behavior till date.

“Got to keep peace in the family”, he said and left – and then there were none.

P.S: I must bookmark this experience. It will come in handy the next time I seem on the verge of running out of booze!

If you liked this you may like to check out the index of other posts of this genre or read a selection of similar posts.

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. Introduced By: The Fool, Participation Count: 09

The Silent World

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 35; the thirty-fifth 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. The theme for the month is "...and the world was silent again"

 “How wonderful it would be if we could actually talk mind-to-mind. There would be none of this miscommunication”, I mused on my way back from office.

I had just discussed my annual performance review with my boss and I was unable to figure out whether his “Better than expected” translated to a higher incentive for me or no. Did he mean “I expected a lot from you and you have still out-done my expectations” or did he mean “Well! I expected you to make a perfect ass of yourself but you have not achieved perfection even in that”?

“You think the world will be better if you could hear what people thought of each other?” whispered a voice in my ear. “From now on you will be able to hear what the people close to you think of you”.

Uh! Last I checked I was all alone in my teeny car and hearing voices has not proved salubrious for people. Look at Joan of Arc. She too heard voices and now she is toast. Thankfully, the voice had stopped and the world was silent again.

By the time I reached home I had forgotten all about the voice. My wife had not yet come back from work. I made a couple of cups of coffee and, just as I was about to sit back and start on my cup, she arrived.

“Coffee is ready, honey”, I said.

“Thanks, Love”

“Like he has done a huge favor to me. And, some day, I must figure out how he uses the same coffee powder and manages to create something that tastes as though it is filled from a sewer”

What was that? My wife’s thoughts? She smiled angelically at me and went to the kitchen to pick her cup of coffee.

“Have to drink it, I suppose! The moment I tell him how awful his coffee is he’ll probably use that as an excuse to beg off all household work”

“Great Coffee, Varun”

I must be hallucinating. Shilpa could never be thinking this of me.

“Let me chop the vegetables for you, honey”

“For me!! Like he is not going to have dinner. And how he manages to get all sizes from a micron to half a foot while chopping one piece of eggplant is another mystery I will never be able to solve”

This was getting decidedly messy. If this was what my wife thought of me, I really did not want to hear any more.

Thankfully, my son came in. Children were messengers of love after all. His thoughts would be a soothing balm to my soul.

“Shit! Dad is home! Just as I want to go out and play a game of cricket. I’ll have to talk to him. And, why does he have to put on that stupid school-kid voice while talking to me? Whoever talked of quality time with kids ought to be shot”

Ouch! This hearing thoughts business was decidedly a curse.

“Go out and play, son”

“At last! Some signs of intelligence. Would have thought that an adult would take a hint. It has taken him years to understand that my idea of a good evening is not having a cosy chat with him  about what my maths teacher said at school!”

Ye Gods! I am done with hearing thoughts. Someone please take this curse off me. I really do not want to know what my boss and colleagues think of me as well.

“Done”, said the voice in my ear. And the world was silent again. Blessedly!

If you liked this you may like to check out the index of other posts of this genre or read a selection of similar posts.

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. Introduced By: The Fool, Participation Count: 08

Even Angels will fall

Bath done, toweling done, combing hair an irrelevancy for long! Time to use the deodorant – the new one that I had lovingly bought! I took out the new can, caressed it and sprayed a bit of it under my arms.

There was a whooshing noise – far louder than the can ought to have made – a thump, a mini-explosion and an angel landed in a shower of broken tiles, bricks and plaster.

“Aaaah!” I yelled looking up at the angel-shaped hole in the ceiling. “Look what you have done. Now, who is going to repair that?”

She eyed me with inchoate desire. “Do you have no romance in your soul?”

“Romance? You mean the thing that the child with wings and a bow keeps sowing?” A sudden thought struck me. “Is he around too? Now what has he broken?”

"He only breaks hearts!"

"That's all right, then"

“Look at me”, she said. I looked. She had a languorous look on her beautiful face. When she slowly and lasciviously licked her lips with the tip of her tongue, I gave in.

“Oh! All Right! If that is what you want!”

I stepped towards her and a piece of glass pricked my foot.

“Jeez! Don’t tell me you broke through that Solar heater too?” I whined.

“Come to me!” she pleaded yearningly.

I took a couple of steps towards her and a drip of water hit the nape of my neck.

“My God! You have ruined all the piping. Do you know how difficult it is to get a plumber? What am I going to do with my water supply all gone?”

She stamped her foot in frustration. Apparently things were not quite going the way she had anticipated though I really could not make out what she did expect my reaction to be.

“Can’t you take your mind of all these silly matters and pay attention to me?”

“Listen lady! It may seem silly to you – you probably don’t even have to pee – but let me tell you things can get pretty messy if my toilets do not flush!”

Even Angels can look ugly in a rage. Yet there was still desire smoldering in her eyes. I was surprised. Hitherto, girls had always found me appealing only from a distance going by the fact that they always hastened to put as much distance as possible from me the moment I hove to on the horizon. Here was this angel chasing me as though I was the epitome of her erotic dreams.

“Say, listen? How come you picked on me?”

She looked at the deodorant can in my hands meaningfully.

“Ah! So that is it! Why didn’t you say so before? Here! Take it and go. And, please, use it at a safe distance from my house. One hole in the ceiling is enough!”

She gave a snort of disgust, snatched the can from my hands and whooshed away. Did she say, “More pleasure can be had from the can than from you” as she left? I could not be sure.

I sat in my bed amidst the ruins and buried my face in my hands. That sure was the most expensive can of deodorant that I had ever bought!

Eviction

We have always faced the threat of eviction from our land. Why this should have been so we still do not know though the threat has been in existence for nearly thirty years. The land was unpromising, prone to frequent inundations and earthquakes. Yet, there was someone who wanted us out of this place.

We are a very tenacious tribe. Other tribes had periodically settled adjacent to us but had been unable to stay rooted. Our tribe has proudly withstood every attempt at uprooting us and has managed to retain hold of the land that we had claimed long ago.

There were some among us who said that the inundations and the seismic activity were also part of the attempts to evict us. There are always such madcap conspiracy theorists in any tribe. If we were to believe them, we would have to believe that the Cosmic All was against us, for who else has the ability to flood and convulse the land?

Yet, it is true that the attempts at evicting us were always made when the seismic activity was strongest and the land was practically submerged under water. It only goes to show how evil the beings were that acted for their gain against beings in distress.

There were some who said that our sins were increasing and, thus, the Cosmic All was angry with us, though how beings rooted to their land could sin beats me. It is true that the seismic activity had increased radically in the recent past so much so the weaker members of our tribe had been evicted. The scientifically minded among us said that the world was passing through a tunnel periodically and that was causing the increased seismic activity. Maybe the latter were correct since it grew very dark at these times but, if so, I prefer to believe that the Cosmic All was testing us.

The historically-minded among us also said that the water that inundated us was cleaner earlier and that it was getting more and more poisoned. They were probably right since I could myself remember the times when my roots were unshaken in the periods of inundation. Nowadays, I find my hold terribly weakened and it takes all my strength of will to hold on to my land.

“Soak no more”, said the Cosmic voice and I rejoiced. We had been tested and we had come through it all. I had periodically heard the cosmic voice say “Soak” just before the land was inundated. So, now the Cosmic All had relented and we would enter His Paradise.

When the two giant beings with five tentacles each came towards me, as they usually did, the land had not been inundated and the beings let go without even a single attempt at evicting me. The land became dark. What was this? The land was getting inundated! Oh! Cosmic All! Was that declaration a lie?

Small colorful beings settled in on me. The seismic activity started. Why was I vibrating like this? My hold is getting too weak and I am losing consciousness. It IS true, then that the Cosmic All had no liking for us.

You cannot evict me! I have my tenancy rights! No! No! Noooooooooo!

* * * * * *

“Thank God all the grease stains are gone thanks to this new detergent! Though I will never understand why your Dad still wears these old Khakhi trousers!”

“He wooed Mom when he was wearing these. So, he has a sentimental attachment to these trousers. Let us hope that he had no sentimental attachment to the grease stains as well. Otherwise, we will never hear the end of it!”

Yet another hair-raising tale

Once upon a time my hair covered my entire scalp like any good self-respecting carpet. Cross my heart! At least this time, I am telling the truth. Then little Jamie Hair became adventurous and decided to go into the wild bad world. “Toodle-oo folks!” he said to his fellow Hairs and disappeared into the void.

Days passed by with all the grey hair Hairs nodding sadly at Jamie’s foolhardiness. But the wander-bug had bit and a few more Hairs disappeared. You know how it is! When Columbus set about discovering America no-one would have gone with him for a bet. Now, see what you have! Everyone running from pillar-consulate to post-consulate for visas! Thus it was with my Hairs and suddenly a great deal of Hairs left their home-head.

Even then a vast majority of them were sticking on. But then a radical started speaking. Jose Hair was hair-raising in his speech. “Brethren! Years ago I looked into the Head and found just A – Z and 0 – 9 inside it. I look in now and what do I see? The same A – Z and 0 – 9 looking hazy and atrophied due to long disuse! This fellow has not added a single thing to his head since these inhabitants slipped in unawares. The monotony of the view is killing me. Off I go!” This speech impelled a great many Hairs and suddenly hair was falling off my head like a hairy Niagara gone berserk.

Then it was that I started getting an admirable view of my scalp. With a view to sparing my fellow-inhabitants this distressing sight, I started twirling my hair into intricate shapes to cover the barren areas. Like rule-bound employees bidden to do something other than what was prescribed in their job descriptions, the Hairs rebelled.

Susie Hair, then told her fiancé, “Joey! When the many-teethed public conveyance comes by tomorrow book the middle berth for me.” Despite the massive rush for reservations, Joey managed the reservations and the duo left in a romantic mood.

Meanwhile my romantic thoughts were torpedoed beyond recovery. I had decided to reconcile myself to my situation but it was not to be. My point was that I was bald, no mistake, but there was no need for me to make a fool of myself as well into the bargain. Unfortunately, those around me thought otherwise and each one suggested some goo or the other which would positively make hair sprout all over my head with exuberance and joie-di-vivre.

When it got to the point where perfect strangers were stopping me on the streets to expound their theories about how my hair-fall was linked to my sweating and what could be done to stop both, I had to give in. I went on a goo-application spree; on diets to control my sweating; and scalp massaging and standing on my head to improve blood circulation to my head. It is a wonder that in the midst of all this activity I had time to do anything else but, since I am still alive, I must have also been breathing all the while!

You could never have imagined that the Hair family could be so finicky. They held their noses at the smell of the goos and shuddered at the texture. They looked upon improved blood circulation with profound disfavor. They detested my shampoo and held my solicitude for their welfare in contempt. And they left in droves! By the time I decided to forswear hair-saving activities, my head was a drought affected area. (Remember folks, we are talking about the eighties. A decade and a half later, I’d have had the benefit of hair-savers of better repute and effect!)

What irks me is this inconstancy and lack of discipline in the Hairs! You see your forehead lengthening and feel, “At last! Some signs of intelligence!” and suddenly find the sun scorching the top of your pate. No orderly withdrawal from the head, starting at one end and ending at the other. The Hairs leave as they please regardless of the fact that the head resembles a shell-shocked area when they leave. Or, it used to! My last hair is gone and that was the end of my hair problems. My head is a nice shiny thing of beauty now and you have another Vin Diesel above the eyebrows!

A Season of Hope! A Season of Despair!

This was our season of hope. There was an expectant buzz among all UVians. An undercurrent of uneasiness and even some quiet despair was apparent in some of the older UVians. Newer ones like us were looked on with an element of contempt and anger. None of that dampened the excitement in me.

Why should all major occasions be inaugurated by a virtual torrent of words is a mystery that I shall never be able to solve. Maybe the old UVians acquired their speech-making habits from the humans they perceived.

“Fellow UVians! Once more in the revolution of this planet around Our Father comes the time when we can attempt Nirvana. Our Father knows best why the Nirvana of a superior species like us should depend on gross material beings – humans – but He knows best”

All UVians reverently genuflected in the direction of the Sun.

“The attempt is fraught with danger. If we hit anything except a human we shall be transmogrified into grosser beings like the IRians. Even among the humans, hit the male of the species and the process of attaining Nirvana is reputed to be extremely unpleasant. Our myths talk of horrid and dangerous obstacles in the way some of which have the potential of transmogrifying us.”

“It is only the female human that offers us the best possibility of attaining Nirvana as also the possibility of the most pleasant path to it.” Pleasures imagined from a recollection of what the old myths had to say about this path brightened his entire appearance.

“It is in this season that humans congregate in those open areas called beaches where we run the least risk of running into other obstacles. What is better, they also wear a minimum of those outer coverings that have denied Nirvana to billions of UVians almost at the gates. This day used to be a day of celebration and merriment of us. But…”

I knew what was coming. Ever since we new UVians had arrived the oldies had been muttering about this. Somehow they seemed to think that the fact that they had suffered the entry through the Othree barrier, while a lot of us had come in through the new gateway, made them better than us. As though we did not deserve to achieve Nirvana because we had had it easy while entering the hallowed precincts of this planet!

“If I have heard this Nirvana-made-easy argument once I have heard it a hundred times”, I erupted.

“Pipe down youngster! I was about to mention the danger from this new species – the SPiFfians!”

“Yes! And you blame their coming on the increased numbers of UVians coming through the gateway! Enough, I say! What are you old ones but a bunch of losers. You have not achieved Nirvana in the eons you spent here and feel proud only of having avoided all the obstacles and survived! What a grand cause for pride – survival!”

There was a loud clamor from both sides and nothing much could be comprehended. The stentorian communication of the Grand Old UVian cut through it all.

“ENOUGH!”

There was a sudden cessation of all communication.

“Harsh words have been used but what comes from ignorance can be forgiven.” I grimaced but kept my peace. “Be warned, however! At the very verge of Nirvana congregate the SPiFfians and the UVian who falls afoul of this accursed species just dissolves into nothing! It is said that the humans have called on them for allies. That seems unlikely. The humans obviously welcome our presence considering that it is the humans who opened up that gateway in the Othree barrier and are doing everything in their power to widen it or open up more gateways. The SPiFfians, however, are a lethal enemy and you would be best advised to avoid tangling with them. May Our Father - the Holy Sun – bless you all with Nirvana!”

The meeting was over.

* * * * * *

Speeding through the atmosphere towards the planet of Nirvana was exhilarating. Nearing the planet I realized that I had been very lucky indeed and was heading directly for one of those open spaces bordering a vast volume of liquid. Nirvana was so close that I could almost sink in the portended ecstasy of the experience. The only fly in my ointment was the fact that the speech-making elder was close to me. One could have chosen better company when on the verge of the ultimate ecstasy.

There was a human. By the description of the older UVians that must be a female as well…No! Two of them side by side! I could hardly miss hitting my target if I succeeded in evading those tiny bits of outer-wear that could cause disaster!

Within micrometers of reaching my goal I stopped and hovered, aghast at the sight of the gossamer being enveloping the female human, who was my route to my goal. This, then, must be the SPiFfian! Waves of cold emanated from the being and I started feeling weak.

“SPiFfian! Get out of my way.”

“I am Lakme! No UVian shall pass me! Attempt the passage at thine own peril”

“I shall pass! If need be through you”

“Thou shalt not pass!” said she implacably.

I moved a nanometer further and found my extremities freezing.

“Give way, Lakme! Why bother us when you allow those Dand-Ruffians free reign?”

“That is a different department”, she said, nonchalantly. “My devoir is to deny passage to UVians. Advance and thou shalt surely perish”

I retreated a micrometer. Discretion is the better part of valor and if I bounced off into the stratosphere I could well try the next season to achieve Nirvana. Just as I was turning I saw the old UVian, who was already speeding away, smirk at me.

My own words came to bite me. Was I a loser who would be addressing the next meeting, filled with pride merely because I had survived? Better to attempt the passage and if the Holy Sun decreed my extinction, so be it!

“I come through, Lakme! Stop me if you can!”

I plunged with all speed down and into the gossamer being.

It was cold…sooooo coooooollllllld!

* * * * * *

“Kyra! Was that a sigh I heard from your direction?”

“No, Elena! If you heard one it must be a sigh of relief! What bliss to be able to tan in the sun without my skin molting like a snake’s!”

“Told you so, Kyra! Ever since I started using this sunscreen, I have stopped breaking out in rashes on the beach!”

The two women relaxed and dozed in the sun totally unaware of the absolute extinction of  millions of UVians on their suntanned bodies! In one’s misery lies the foundation of another’s happiness. Such is life!