The monologue with Tequila

Dev was sitting nervously in the waiting area meant for parents.

Mrs. Tanya Sharma, his four year old son Arpit's class teacher had called for an urgent Parent Teacher Meeting (PTM).

Waiting outside Mrs Sharma’s cabin, he nervously scanned through the turn of events in the last few days.

What could have led to this sudden meeting?

“Was Arpit involved in a fight with some other child… Did he hurt someone?”

“Did he bring something unusual or take something out of the school?”

Only a month back, he was ecstatic when his four year old was excitedly telling him what he learnt at school.

“Papa, you know what do plants need to grow?

They need Sunshine..

They need water…

They need air”

Dev was happy that his son was learning something new every day. And now this sudden notice had irked him.

What added to the anxiety was why he alone had to go through this torture. How was the teacher sure that the issue was linked only to the father, and the mother was let off scot-free.

Yes, he came back sloshed a couple of nights back after a college reunion bash. But that should not have been an issue. His wife and son were sleeping when he came back, and he had crawled in the bed silently.

At least, that’s what he remembered....

“You may come in Mr. Saha.”

After the initial meet and greet, Mrs. Sharma came to the point, and narrated the incident that happened the previous day.

Arpit had managed to get some slices of lemon and salt from the pantry. He then called out some of his friends in the garden area and taught them what plants need apart from Sunlight……”

Mrs. Sharma kept speaking but his mind froze at the word ‘Sunlight’ for a few seconds.

And that’s when he remembered everything. It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck him. The sequence of events from that night were crystal clear at that very instant.

At the college re-union bash, his batch mates had found a very old guitar from somewhere and nudged him to play “Give me some sunshine, Give me some rain” from “3 Idiots” movie. They might have sung the song at least a dozen times. They had just started with their first round of Tequila shots when the personnel from the party venue politely asked them to leave, as it was the closing time.

He had Uber’ed home, and entered the balcony of his apartment with a bottle of Tequila, lemon slices, salt, and 3 shot glasses.

And this was the one sided conversation he had with the 3 plants at 1:30 AM.

“You need Sunshine.. no doubt about it..,,,

You need air and water…superrrrrr…I know…..

But u know .. what u need right nowwww.. u 3 Idiots….?

U need a Tequila shot each”

And then with through professionalism and precision, he sprinkled some salt, poured down the Tequila and sprinkled some lemon in that order on the helpless plants.

And that’s when he realized the blunder.

OMG!!!! Arpit might have woken up and witnessed the monologue performance by his father directed towards the poor plants in their balcony, educating them about the missing ingredient in their growth.

“Mr. Saha. Where are you lost! You should be ashamed. Your son was teaching the whole class how Tequila shots help plants in their growth. And he said he learnt this from you. Can you please explain this.”

His mind was uncomfortably numb. Obviously, there was no justification for his actions.

But, it was the imminent danger lurking at home that he was worried more. This shock would have to go through his dear wife. The three plants were the absolutely cherished ones she had bought a few weeks back. He had no clue how he could undo the after effects of the Tequila.

Rainbow of Expressions- A short story

It was a cold December evening. I was strolling past the Pike Place Street when someone caught my attention from outside the glass pane.

She sat in the Starbucks cafe, sipping her coffee and staring out of the window. The blood stained knife lay next to her handbag, covered with her blue silk scarf.

These past few days were witness to a series of murders in Seattle region. It was all over the news. While the investigations were on, it was certain that the suspect was a young lady.

I knew by instinct that the killer was in front of me. My mind was racing, my heart was thumping. I wanted to be as near to my suspect as possible, and start my keen observation. I checked the queue outside the entrance door.

This was the first Starbucks opened way back in 1971. And it’s mostly very crowded with people from all over the world. Having attained a cult status, people don’t mind standing in a long queue here. I quickly joined the queue. The wait to reach inside seemed endless. As I entered the cafe, I was lucky to get a seat not too far from her.

By instinct, I was sure that the knife hidden under her scarf was the murder weapon. The air around smelt of blood.

Crime novels have always excited me, and here was my chance to witness some action in real life. Somehow, I knew my moment of glory was ticking. I could imagine my name all over the news tomorrow, as the one who got the mysterious serial killer nabbed. I even saw my picture captioned, ‘Sherlock Holmes Reloaded’.

Thankfully, a group of students jabbering besides my table pulled me out of my dream world. So, I went back to do what I was required to do and something that I take pride in.

I started to observe my suspect for a while. It just felt unbelievable that such a young pretty face could have been a serial killer.

What was she thinking? Why would she be so dumb to bring the murder weapon to a public place? Had she lost her mind? Maybe she was done with the last murder on her list. And now there was no fear left inside her.

I was confident enough to call 911. That would be the logical thing to do and also bring me instant fame. But, then, the writer inside stopped me. This was a great chance to observe an interesting character. Possibly a psycho character. This experience would be priceless and would be crucial in my future writings. So, I decided to hang on for a while.

Human emotions have always fascinated me.  I have always believed that real emotions are very difficult to disguise.

Every time I managed to have a good look at her, I could see a new expression showing up.

She had an intense look made equally vulnerable by the fear encompassed in her deep black eyes. She seemed conscious of the blue scarf lying beside her.

There was a tinge of nervousness. Of course, she knew what was going to happen. She would be caught eventually.

Then there was panic. She seemed to be calling someone frantically, but wasn’t getting connected. There might be someone out there to rescue her.

As she sipped her coffee, there were moments when a certain evil satisfaction was evident on her face. As if, she had just accomplished an important mission. As if, she just found a new meaning in her life.

And few moments later, as she looked at the knife beneath her scarf, anguish filled her eyes. As if, she was witness to the most painful thing moments earlier.

Was it just me who could really see through these Rainbow of Expressions?

All this while, I managed to avoid eye contact with her, lest she gets suspicious.

This went on for almost an hour. And then, it seemed as though she was about to leave.

That was it. I did what I was procrastinating for a while. I dialed 911. 

“I have to make sure she doesn’t leave in the next few minutes”, I pondered. What should I do? Luckily for me, a teenage girl came frantically from the other corner of the café. She looked nervous with excitement and started conversing with my suspect. I strained to hear their conversation but could not hear amidst the noise from all over the place.

Seconds later, another girl approached with a grin as she joined the ‘Suspect’ table. Of course, I was confused. These girls were dealing with a serial killer here. Police should be here anytime now. I could not do anything but wait.

But as a group of boys approached the suspect, I knew something was amiss. Immediately I ran over to the billing counter and asked if someone knew my suspect.

It turned out that my assumed ‘suspect’ was a budding TV actress, Sheena Thomas. She was a firm believer in method acting. She was playing the character of a psycho serial killer who comes regularly to Starbucks to choose her victims.

For the past few weeks, Sheena had been regularly coming over to Starbucks preparing herself for her role. She would disguise herself wearing different hair wigs and scarfs. And today, she was preparing for the last episode where she comes along with the murder weapon.

Of course, there was no blood on the knife. It was red paint.

Now I knew why I could witness the rainbow of expressions. She, indeed, was a great actress.

What the hell was I going to tell the police officer who was about to come? I guess my face would also portray a rainbow of expressions. 7 shades of embarrassment!!

The Guitar of Character

“I'm worse at what I do best

And for this gift I feel blessed

Our little group has always been
And always will until the end”

The crowd was roaring and head banging along with the amateur band who just finished their rendition of the signature Nirvana number, ‘Smells like Teen spirit’

It was Aug 15, 2003. The big night David had been dreaming for a long time.

His band ‘Phoenix’ was competing in the ‘Battle of the Bands’ at Baga beach, Goa. They were not an experienced band, and getting an entry to the competition was quite an uphill task, especially considering the inexperienced members in the band.

Since their performance was a wild card entry, David thought it would be a good opportunity to surprise his parents. So, he had planned to take them directly at the venue on the D day. He could not have ever imagined that he would be in for a shock.

Few hours before the event was starting, David with his band members was doing his last rehearsal at Joseph’s garage room. Abraham, his father, enters the garage. He looked red with fury, and as he marched towards David, there was a perceptible tension in the room.

He paused for a moment before David and slapped him with all his might.

The slap was nasty, it was amplified by the microphone and the silence. More slaps followed before Abraham finally broke down, and said,

"You terrible piece of shit. I trusted you with all my guts. And yet, you have shamed me." 

Abraham’s biggest fear had seemed to come alive.

He was suspicious since the day he saw some search results related to marijuana on David’s laptop for a brief moment before David appeared before him. From then on, he started keenly observing his son.

David would be home late many times after his guitar practice sessions, looking jaded. His parents would think that it’s his friends with whom David was practicing.

Abraham wanted to confront him but he knew his smart son would come up with some excuse and convince him that it was a false accusation. So, he wanted to catch him red handed.

And one day when David was out, he checked his wardrobe and found a packet of weed stuffed up beneath his pile of clothes. That was it.

Back at the garage, here was David sitting at the door with his bruised lips after the flurry of slaps from his dad. As Abraham was still questioning his fellow band members, David sat dismayed knowing that all the blood and sweat his band had put up was about to go down the drain. Suddenly, the years of preparation and hard work came by flashing in front of his eyes.

David always wanted to be a guitarist. Since the time he had seen the black electric guitar first time on MTV, he had fallen in love with the instrument.

He was 15 when he insisted on learning guitar. It took a lot of time and persuasion from David and his mother, Annie in convincing Abraham that he takes up guitar lessons.

David was a natural with guitar and within a few months of learning, he started playing many of the signature rock tunes with a flair. By 21, he had finished his graduate degree, but his heart was somewhere else. He was passionate to form a rock band. Just that he never mentioned it to his parents. He was well aware of his dad’s opposition.

Abraham never thought any good could come out from music. He had known many kids going gaga over learning musical instruments to the extent they did not even complete their basic education. Only to realize that the craziness was not worth it, and there is just too much competition out there.

Also, he was aware of, how, many of the rock stars, the world over, have been victims of drug abuse and have ended up in long periods of depression. And, quite a few of them killed themselves. He got cold feet each time he imagined David to end up like one of them.

It was the time when grunge rock movement was at its peak. David’s cousin, Remo, was living in Seattle, where the grunge metal had its roots. He was of the same age as David and used to get latest rock CD's for him whenever he visited Goa on holidays. David became particularly influenced by Nirvana's Nevermind, Pearl Jam's Ten and Stone Temple Pilots' Core.

Rock music was his refuge as a teenager, when he could no longer bear his parents fight over stupid things day in and day out.

Rock was his savior when his first girlfriend dumped him for a stupid but rich guy.

Rock became his messiah for the frustrations that came packed in the daily vagaries of life.

The effect of listening too much Grunge rock, where lyrics are often shouted instead of sung in a conventional sense, particularly in hardcore styles, had a weird effect on David.So, at times, when his parents mentioned about his marriage plan, he would respond in the typical shout out way that would astound them.

These feelings of angst, of social alienation and apathy, which filled his mind were ingredients for original rock lyrics that David would keep handy for future songs.

So, back at the Garage, as David was reminiscing about the years gone by, Abraham took his time to compose himself before he could hear out David’s band members. It turned out that David was actively involved with a local non-profit organization “Koshish” whose mission was rehabilitation of drug addicts. 

During the time David was looking for a job, he devoted a lot of time towards uplifting and transforming the lives of a motley of people. Joseph and Philips were two such gems he found who had rock in their blood. Their lives had been devastated by marijuana addiction. Their families had given all hope on them and they eventually landed up with ‘Koshish’.

The proven rehabilitation techniques would not interest David. He would rather utilize the power of rock music to transform their lives. Joseph, Philips and many others had hidden potential. What they needed was someone who could channelize this wealth. Someone who would stop judging them. David, himself was planning to form a rock band for long. And he knew by instinct that he had found what he was looking for. And it was a matter of time that with the desired support from the non-profit, he had created ‘Phoenix’, an upcoming rock band including himself, Philips and Joseph.

Relapses are common during the rehabilitation programs, and Philips could not escape one either. The day before the event, David could sense that he was high on marijuana. Using his craft, David could snatch the weed supply from him. He had planned to hand it over to the local police post their event.

After listening to Joseph and Philips, Abraham could now connect the dots and clear all his doubts. Of course he had misjudged and shattered David.

Immediately, he looked for David. Finding him, standing dejected near the garage door, Abraham wanted to congratulate David and praise him for his extraordinary approach towards rehabilitating drug addicts.

But, as tears rolled down Abraham's eyes, and he hugged his son, all he could say was, "You, my son, have a Guitar of character". 

Back to the present….

‘Phoenix’ band members were winding up the show amidst the thunderous applause from the crowd. 

There was no sign of marijuana on the stage. The desired magical adrenaline rush came from sheer love of rock. Resurrecting themselves, Philips and Jospeh had lived up to their band’s name.  They had risen from their ashes of the past.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. I would like you to introduce my band members. Here is Joseph on the bass guitar, Philip on the drums. And I am David, lead vocalist and guitarist.

I love you all!!"

The Sine wave@Facebook- A short story

12 December, 2014

“You are under arrest”. A person in a regular corporate job does not hear this too often in a lifetime. And that too, first thing in the morning. Shruti was shell shocked, as this came straight from Sub-Inspector Ashok Malwe, standing sternly by her main door.

Her comment, posted late last night on Facebook, indicting Deputy Chief Minister of Maharashtra, had created an uproar in the online media. She was told that her comment accused the minister of favoring his relatives in getting land at dirt cheap prices in the interiors of Nagpur. The comment was posted at 12:30 AM, the previous night, from her account.

Innocent Shruti had not even logged into her FB account since last couple of days, let alone post a controversial comment without any proof to back it up. But the Sub-Inspector could only play by the rules. She could get out only on bail, and summon an advocate to get her out of the mess.

The land scam and the related negative publicity was getting on the nerves of politicians. And, now her direct comment on the Deputy CM’s FB page got the attention from the topmost circles of power. Even her close friend Sakshi was not spared, and was issued an arrest warrant too. She happened to Like the forbidden comment.

It was only a few days earlier that her Gmail was hacked. A spam message was forwarded from her Id to a large number of random people. But, thankfully, that did not invite any trouble. And she also conveniently forgot about it. But, now as she was sitting in the police jeep, she tried to connect the dots. She tried to explain to the Sub-Inspector a possibility that the same person might be involved in both of these incidents. That she suspected of someone, possibly a computer hacker, who is hell bent in creating trouble for her. But the duty-bound sub-Inspector won’t listen. And she was bound to face the regular brunt of interrogation. And be made to feel like a criminal!

Sometimes, when you are in deep shit, your mind wanders to the recent splendid moments of life. That gives some hope, if nothing else. And that’s what happened with Shruti. The last month was nothing short of a roller coaster ride for her. She remembered her star studded night at San Francisco, barely a month back.

Thanks to Pepsi, that ran an online contest on the eve of Lady Gaga’s concert. The participants needed to sing one of the star’s hit number and upload the video on Facebook. One winner from each participating country would win a fully sponsored couple passes to the concert. Shruti knew she was a terrible singer, but a big Lady Gaga’s fan, nonetheless. And she took her chance in the contest, though, just for the fun of it.

And, to her utter amazement, she was the One chosen as the winner. She along with Andy, her fiancé, had the most amazing time. And, in the fun and excitement of those fabulous days, she never bothered to ponder as to how on earth she, being the pathetic singer she was, could be selected.

Coming back from the nostalgic time to the ugly present where she was sitting opposite Sub- Inspector Ashok Malwe. It was still some time before they reached the police station. As she checked her Facebook on her phone, she was surprised to see messages from Prem, her ex-boyfriend.

Prem-   “I am so sorry for your current state, my dear. But you should not have dumped me for this ass, also known as Andy.

You were quick to DELETE me from every spectrum of your world after I was fired from my job. And never took any trouble to find out about me in the two years that followed.

Shattered, cannot truly describe my state when I lost my job and got dumped by my girlfriend on the same day.

Believe me, it was extremely difficult to search for a new meaning in life. But as they say, Time heals anything.

You might remember, how fascinated I was with this hacking thing. And so, when I started on with life again, I pursued my passion and here I am, a Professional computer hacker.

My love, I do concede that I have spent some of the best moments of my life with you.

And so my dear, if you take a moment to think, I am sure you will be able to understand the Highs and Lows of your life, linked in some way to Facebook, could have been manipulated by some computer hacker like me.

All the best dear, as this Wave has just started!!”

Shruti was almost frozen after she read these messages. There was something insanely evil that she could infer from Prem’s messages as she read them over and over again.

It took her some time to decide her next move. She was relieved now that Prem had admitted his involvement in hacking her FB account and posting the maligning comment on the Deputy Chief Minister. She waited for them to reach the police station where she would explain in detail to the questioning officers and would be declared innocent.

To prepare herself with the latest information about Prem, she googled him. It did not take her long to zero in on the correct Prem from the search results. Her hands covered her mouth in shock as she read the news item.

“12 October, 2013

Prem Chopra,a professional Computer hacker, who was working in a high profile case with the CBI, met with an accident on the Pune-Mumbai Expressway. On reaching the nearest hospital, he was declared dead…”

She could not read further. If Prem had died more than a year ago, then who the hell was this Prem that she got the messages just minutes earlier? At once she checked for the messages that were her claim to innocence. But there was no message now.

On reaching the Police Station, she was sitting silently on a chair waiting for the proceedings to begin. As she heard the voice of Andy from behind her, she was relieved. But could not understand why there was a roar of laughter from the staff present in the room. As Andy turned, she knew why. There was ‘Ass’ imprinted in black bold letters on the back of Andy’s white T-shirt.

She suddenly remembered Prem mentioning Andy as an ass in his messages.  And she immediately became aware of a ghost’s power both in the Facebook and the Real world.

The Hitman's Mocked Slap- A short story

It was the night Mungeri had been dreading for a while. At last, he got his call from The ‘Hitman’, one of the most dreaded Third year seniors of KYTC College of Engineering. The news had come in a day earlier, through a secret email as per the norm.

None of the juniors sweating out the days of ragging knew Hitman’s real name. Lean and tall, he mostly wore a dark and worn out jacket with a hood, hiding his face to an extent. He spoke rarely, but whenever he did, everyone around listened intently. The uncanny scar above his right eye granted him a deadly appearance.

He was popular for his legendary ‘Blackout’ slap. Literally, the fresher who received it, would experience a complete blackout for the next few seconds. Some would also see stars in the black background accompanied with a strong buzzing sensation in the ear. To add to the deadly effect, the innocuous junior wouldn’t even realize when exactly it was coming. The Hitman was expert at creating the suspense.

Normally, he would stroll around his ‘Bakra’, the junior, who had been called upon and keep talking random stuff with his friends, who would be there with him encircling the junior. The poor soul, with his eyes closed, would be earnestly awaiting the slap. It would take anywhere between 2-15 minutes depending on the Hitman’s mood. Mostly, it would be executed in the middle of a sentence that would surely take the junior by surprise.

The speed and the accuracy would always work in perfect harmony to ensure desired impact of the ‘cult’ slap. There would be a visible mark left on the upper neck of the victim. And that would be the passport for the junior to enter the Hitman’s Buddies club. Post induction, he would have the protection of the Man himself from other seniors till the fresher’s party. And the benefits did not end there. They just became glamorous.

As Hit Man was quite popular within the girls, he could introduce the new member to them and greaten his chances at finding a girlfriend, which was anyway an uphill task, considering the abysmal sex ratio in the college.

But, the Hitman did not call just any Bakra. There was a secret selection procedure which he only knew about. And if grapevine was to be believed, there should have been be a distinctive element in the personality of the junior that should trigger his interest. Sometimes, he would chat on messenger with his prospect to make sure only the right junior gets called.

The night before the D-day, Mungeri had an unusual dream. Akin to Raj of DDLJ, he was facing the torrent of slaps from Baldev Singh. Baldev was wearing a jacket with a hood just like the Hitman.  Mungeri kept telling him that he did not even know Simran, but he would not listen.  He was confident, that just like in the movie, Baldev would stop after the eighth slap. To his horror, his intensity only increased after the eighth slap and he yelled at the top of his voice, “You idiot. This is not a movie.” That was the moment of truth. Because, then only, Mungeri realized, on closer observation, that the yelling man was not Baldev. It was The Hitman himself. Getting up with a jolt, and regaining his senses, he was relieved that he still had a day to prepare himself before he faces the Hitman in real.

The D-day was here. It was 10:30 PM, the time that was going to decide his destiny. Slowly, dragging his feet to the notorious-for-ragging Third-year-hostel-block, Mungeri’s mind had contradictory feelings. From the vivid descriptions given by his fellow freshers, the physical pain and even more, the emotional torture, seemed too scary to endure.

At one time, he had even considered cancelling his visit and admit lack of courage in facing the Hitman. But as fate would have had it, Mungeri heard of a grapevine which made him sure of facing the drill. It was known that, Beera Das, his second year senior, had gotten lucky with a girl with Hitman’s help. And this was big news in the college, considering Beera seemed a total loser from most aspects. ‘If he can get lucky, I am sure I can just rock, with a little help from Hitman,’ Mungeri smiled.

Climbing up the stairs towards the terrace of the third year hostel, he encountered many seniors. Many had the urge to grab him. But, almost immediately, they seemed to realize, on looking at their watches, that he was the ‘chosen one’. No one messes with the Hitman’s bakra. It seemed to be an unstated rule.

As he entered the terrace, he started scanning the terrace from one of the corners. There were small groups of seniors having sutta and chitchatting amongst themselves. When he was almost at the end of his panoramic view, he could finally trace the ‘Hitman’ based on the vivid description he had access to.

Mungeri was spotted and asked to join the group. He was asked to remove his eye glasses, close his eyes and just wait. Standing in the middle of the group now, every second seemed to take a heavy toll on his terrified mind. The seniors kept mocking about few professors. The topic then changed to the precious few hot girls of third year batch. In all those conversations, Hitman would come up with some witty remark in between and others would laugh aloud.

 ‘It must have been 15 minutes since the time I came here,’ thought Mungeri. In between their conversations, he had tried to open his eyes and have a peek to see what’s happening. He was caught immediately and asked with a stern tone to keep his eyes shut. Finally, his intuition told him that the moment had come. The next thing he knew, he was in his hostel bed.

It was 11 AM when he woke up. As expected, the first thing he wanted to know was if he got the slap or not. Closely inspecting himself in the mirror, he could not see any mark; nor could he feel any pain or remember anything that would certify that, he, actually was slapped. Immediately, he went out and noticed a rare admiration from his batch mates. It seemed everyone around was talking about Mungeri in closed groups. Finally, he came across his good friend Rakesh who told him everything.

It so happened, that just when Hitman was about to slap Mungeri, a monkey jumped across from the nearby porch and slapped Hitman instead. Mungeri had fainted few seconds earlier only and had no clue what was happening. Notwithstanding the fact that the monkey had come from nowhere, it had vanished all of a sudden. All of it happened so fast, so as to leave everyone astounded and mocking at the Hitman, silently.

Out of utter humiliation, the Hitman could not go out from his room for a week. The campus was thick with rumors for the next few days post the incident. Some said that since Mungeri was a staunch follower of Hanumanji, this was an act of divine intervention. Others said that Mungeri was seen training a monkey a few days back at the outskirts of the college.

It did not matter what others believed. After knowing what had really happened on the D-day, Mungeri could not help but smile.

Of course there could be serious repercussions based on the rumors in the air. But, somehow he was quite prepared for the same. Yes, he missed on his membership to the privileged ‘Hitman’s Buddies ’club. But no one could know that a new club for the freshers, christened ‘The Bajrangbali Club’ was on its way. And who would know, if one day, that might go on to attain a cult status as well.

Sequel to 'Love in Train, Heartbreak in Bus'

Not many passengers accepted chocolates from the weird heart- broken stranger. As a result, when he got out of the bus, Rohan still had many chocolates left in his Ferrero Roche box. He so wanted to kick that box on NH 17. Instead, he offered it to his hostel security guard, who accepted it with a big grin. The money borrowed from his friends seemed worth it and he managed a smile that had escaped him through the ugly turn of events of the fateful day.

Trying to sleep that night, a zillion questions hijacked his mind. ‘Why so abrupt? Was holding Nisha’s hand made her think he was going too fast? Didn’t he deserve a chance to clarify himself? Could she actually be involved with some other guy? Was it a just a trick played by one of her friends?’  Being an optimist, he still thought that Nisha might realize her mistake and contact him. Anxiously waiting for a week, he finally started to come to terms with the harsh reality.

Of course, it wasn’t going to be easy coming back to his normal self. Plus, his fourth semester exams were approaching and like a typical engineer, he had to be ready enough to study for at least the duration of the exams. He had to make peace with himself and move on. If only he had a picture of Nisha, flushing the same might have helped. So, a different strategy was needed.

After a lot of deliberation, venting out his angst, disappointment, frustration and melancholy through an email seemed to be the best option. And the process of drafting ‘The Email’ commenced. After two days and three nights, the email was finally complete. It was the longest email he had ever composed or received till date. Sitting in the computer lab at midnight, as he was about to hit the send button, an unseen power stopped him. ‘Golmaal hai bhai sab golmaal hai’, he could hear the tune playing somewhere in the background. So, discarding the original long email, all he could send was, ‘Don’t do this to anyone else, it really hurts’.

 

That night, he felt much lighter and finally managed to get some sound sleep. A dream took over shortly, in which he was still ‘The Romeo’ walking with Nisha across a scenic landscape in Manipal, and singing ‘Teri yaadein mehfooz hai, baaki sab fizool hai’. It was a song they had composed impromptu in real life while strolling on their second date. Rohan did not realize that he was singing that song at the top of his voice in his sleep. Mohit, his roommate woke up with a jolt. All polite ways to stop Rohan from singing at 3 AM in the night had failed. Slap on the face was the only option left with Mohit. ‘Nisha, what happened now?’ Rohan blurted as he woke up startled from the slap. ‘Nothing my dear, I was hoping that you would kiss me good night’, Mohit said with a mocking feminine voice. Both of them had a good 3 AM laughter and crashed to bed again.

The following days saw Rohan studying as never before. His internal test scores had already taken a hit, thanks to the ‘Love Fever’. So, he needed to do well in the main semester exams to cover up. This was a chance to prove to himself and specially his friend Jai Dhawan who had mockingly drawn the declining graph of his marks from the time he had met Nisha.

He fared well in most of the subjects except Engineering Drawing II. In response to one of the questions to draw the projection of a Hexagonal nut, he drew something that was beyond the comprehension of any mechanical engineering professor. On closer inspection, it turned out to be the side view of a girl’s face. Of course, he got his share of mock from all stakeholders for his piece of art in the semester exam. So much for the final withdrawal symptoms of love.

The much awaited inter college festival ‘Incident- 2002’ was scheduled just few days post the start of next semester. So, this time, as an exception, he decided against going home for vacation after the exams. Instead, the thought of practicing for the music competition captured his mind. This year the fest was happening in PES Bangalore. And he was more than excited to visit a new place and interact with musically inclined folks. Nisha’s college, KMC Manipal was also participating in the fest. A thought crossed his mind, ‘What if she is a part of her college band or just planning to visit to support her team’? He feared any encounter with her.

Meanwhile, Rohan was experiencing changes he never anticipated. Earlier, music for him mostly meant Kishore Kumar songs. Before he knew, Pink Floyd and Metallica took control. Outings to pocket-friendly Beer serving pubs graduated to hostel rooms stuffed with Old Monk. He could experience for himself what peace lay in a grass joint with Pink Floyd playing in a dark room with a revolving lamp and why this was a considered a cult experience in engineering hostels. The solace from rock music couldn’t have come at a better time.

Time was ticking, and it was just two weeks left for the fest. Rohan was convinced that instead of participating in the Eastern musical genre that was his forte until then, he would give western music a shot. ‘Nothing else matters’ from Metallica was chosen as the track his team would perform. This time he also got engaged in a fusion song along with two colleges from Manipal- KMC and MIT. This was to be a non-competitive song and some seniors from the participating colleges thought this would be a novel idea. Rohan along with his band had to travel to MIT Manipal for practice sessions for the fusion song. Sandra, an easy going girl, was one of the lead vocalists in the song with Rohan. She was from KMC, and during a casual chit chat had mentioned about Nisha, her classmate. ‘She has been performing in the fest for the last two years, but this time she doesn’t seem interested’, Sandra remarked.  There was an immediate uneasiness that showed on Rohan’s face. It was a girl’s natural talent in perceiving emotions that made Sandra understand much more than what was revealed. They never talked about Nisha in the subsequent practice sessions.

The D-day had arrived. Rohan, along with his band members was all set to rock the stage. It was a typical pleasant and windy Bangalore evening. The western musical competition had gathered heat as popular numbers from Pink Floyd, Nirvana, Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden set the stage ablaze. There was a huge round of applause when the KREC team performed ‘Nothing else matters’. ‘Once more, once more….’ , as the crowd roared, Rohan felt a kind of high never experienced before.

It was now the turn of the fusion number that the crowd was anxiously waiting to listen. Three colleges, three versatile teams, collaborating for a fusion of Sufi and Rock was a first of its kind performance in an inter-college fest. As the members occupied their places on the stage, sound check commenced. Surprisingly, there was no microphone on the stand which Rohan occupied. And worse, Sandra, his co- vocalist disappeared all of a sudden. By the time Rohan could sense something fishy, his ears strained to hear, ‘Teri yaadein mehfooz hai, baaki sab fizool hai’. The lights focused on the two girls standing across the stage with a microphone between them. Sandra, one of those two girls, gave a wink to Rohan who was struggling to hide his emotions. The season of surprises was back again with a bang!!

Dad's Whatsapp Message

Rohan is sitting near boarding gate 8B of Kempegowda International Airport, Bengaluru waiting for his flight to Mumbai. He had waited eagerly for this moment. After a long tenure of hostel ragging which stretched till end of his second semester engineering degree course, this was a much needed vacation.

It had been almost 45 minutes since he was last ‘Online’. But it felt like eternity. So, after the usual nitty-gritties of boarding pass collection and security check, he was more than happy to settle down and connect to the free airport WiFi network. As his smartphone gathered its wits to take on the numerous updates from the umpteen social networks that he was a proud member, there was a certain noticeable restlessness on his face.

The whatsapp icon was the first one to be noticed, a number of 87 (notifications) tagged with it. ‘Oh my God! What the hell has happened in the last 45 minutes’, Rohan sighed. On checking the details, he realized that 85 messages were from his girlfriend Simran, and the rest 2 from his Dad. The new found love in his life was his natural priority over Dad. Simran’s whatsapp window exploded with ‘n’ number of pictures. Even the normally robust airport WiFi was put to shame, as the images just did not stop to queue up for download.

Typically, Simran managed to coax Rohan in accompanying her for shopping. At this moment, when there were irresistible sales going all around, Rohan was not around. She curse her luck, but shortly set her eyes on the online shopping websites offering even higher discounts plus 30 day return policy. She planned to try all the dresses and then seek Rohan’s whatsapp approval so that she could return the rest. “Which of these two is looking better?”. This followed with dozens of images, Simran posing happily in her latest collection. “Which footwear out of these three suits me Jaanu?” “You have been away for just a day, and I already feel so lonely” ..”Tell me, you love me”. He knows that whatever may be the final choice she makes, one thing is sure. It would definitely not be the one that he recommended. ‘Women, you cant live with them, can’t live without them’, Rohan sighed.

Meanwhile, an old man happened to stop by and ask something to Rohan. But, the pressure of replying to Simran seemed way too much, so the old man feeling ignored, left. A few moments later, a middle aged woman sitting a few seats adjacent to Rohan suddenly stood up and started to move towards boarding gate 6.This was repeated by a group of students sitting near to him. Considering something was amiss, Rohan had to finally take a break from his ‘virtual’ world and acknowledge the ‘real’ world where boarding gates can change at the very last moment.

Now, standing in the queue in front of the new boarding gate, he finally remembered that there was a message from his Dad as well. “Rohan, where are you? Your phone is not reachable. You will be thrilled to know that your grandfather…….”Rohan could not read further as his mind drifted back in memories of the time spent with his grandfather. He was his favorite companion as far as he could remember. Then, one unfortunate day, when Rohan was about 7 years old, his grandfather left the house without informing anybody after a bitter argument with his son.

When his mind returned to the present, he found himself seated in the plane which was about to take off. He continued reading the whatsapp message from his Dad. “You will be thrilled to know that your grandfather has been found in Bengaluru by one of my close friends, who recognized him near 100 feet road, Indiranagar. Check out his photo that my friend managed to click. As the image was loading, Rohan was super excited to finally know about the whereabouts of his grandfather. But when he closely observed the image, he was in for a shock. The man in the picture was the same old man who had asked for his help while he was busy in his virtual world with Simran. Before his mind could act, the Boeing 707 had taken off.