THE SALEM PAYBACK

REPOSTED THIS STORY OF MINE FOR ALL THOSE WHO HAVEN'T READ IT:
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THE SNOOZER: March1, 2008.10.00 pm.
An old hut, Salem.

The old alarm clock goes on in an obscure, little hut in Salem, the steel city of the south; it's around six hours by road from Chennai, which in turn is the cosmoplitan hotspot of South India.

He has hardly slept four hours-he’d been drinking all evening and quite a lot lately. He turns the alarm off, walks to the corner of his one sparse house, washes his face and hands off his drunken stupor and eats an early breakfast, served by his wife - some rice porridge and thick fish curry. Fish curry is a delicacy in his house, what with his miserly sole earnings mostly feeding his kallasarayam (type of local hard liquor). He gets set for his extremely early morning shift- he works as a driver for PTC buses plying from Salem to Chennai and back.

His two little girls in torn nighties are fast asleep. He gives them a kiss each. He would never let anything hurt them- he should get them new nighties. His wife gives him his towel and a bottle of water. She seems to be worried- he must remember to get her some mallighai poo (jasmine flowers). Chellapa clearly didn’t like seeing people unhappy or hurt in the smallest possible way.

‘You should drink a little lesser, and sleep a little more,’ she silently, almost carefully admonishes.
‘Kannama, don’t start. I work like a dog, and dogs have to be fed. My kallasarayam is the only thing that could really feed me. Your family gets its food, the kids get their education, and no one else is harmed, I have never hurt a fly- so I can keep drinking more and sleeping less for all you care, why are you bothered??’

No one else is harmed, I haven’t and wouldn’t hurt a fly….

He walks towards his bus with sleep-filled eyes.
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THE SINNER: March 2, 2008 10.00 am.
Sales office, Chennai.

She sits in her open cubicle, biting at those already cropped-to-the-flesh nails. Her eyes flash around the brightly lit office, the usual commotion and noise in her sales office suddenly a stranger invading her senses. As a Major Account Manager for a set of named/unnamed accounts only in Chennai, she sells desktops / laptops to these accounts. Officially, she isn't allowed to sell to accounts outside Chennai.

She swallows hard as her palms break into a sweat. She stares at the purchase order that has just landed her outlook mailbox. It is a purchase order for 160 desktops from ‘Bharatiar College, Salem’. She then closes the mail, closes her eyes and tries closing onto a peaceful trance.

These are the various conflicting statements from her colleagues, over the last few days that color her blanched peace:

‘Jennifer, never pick a deal/order from outside Chennai. It is against ethics, and you could lose your job.’

‘It isn’t wrong to pick an order from outside. Everyone does it here. Even losing a wink of sleep over that is fruitless- losing your job is out of question! ’

‘Ethics in business is always ahead of the business itself,’

‘Ethics in business is always ahead of the business itself, only because all the malpractices and wrongdoings serve as the backdoor junk backing the business from behind’

‘These are small things- why bother?’

‘There is a God of small things watching you always!’

Two schools of thought- one telling her it’s all wrong and one placating her anxieties. Her eyes remain shut and her eyeballs motionless. She wills the guilt away, but then, it simply keeps gnawing back at her.
In the end, this is what repeatedly pounds her eardrums as eerie whispers, ‘I’ve done IT. Everyone does IT. THIS shall also pass- Salem can never get back AT me, it's after all only a city’
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THE SUFFERER: March 2, 2008: 10.00 am
BBA Classroom, Loyola, Chennai.

HE sits at his desk, looking at the OB (Organizational Behavior) teacher with a fixed, occupied stare. His sister had helped him with, read ‘completed’ his HR Case Analysis late last night. She was his sitting duck- he loved making fun of all her: ‘full flab, flat nose, flat figure and flat feet.’ However, she had always been his ultimate saving grace when it came to completing assignments, giving tips and ideas on how to go about his BBA and lending innovative/inspiring ideas on shaping his future career.

HE turns his attention to OB- Obnoxious Bozo aka the Organizational Behavior teacher, and wonders how someone has the patience to go on for hours and hours talking, and he thinks ‘she must probably be suffering from ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder).’

His stomach groans, thinking of the Chicken Rice that was waiting for him in the Loyola Canteen. He looks across at Ashwin who is sticking pencils in Ann’s frizzy hair. ‘You Rotten Onion Burrito, here’s my pencil for her hair- way to go!’ he giggles and whispers to Ashwin.

The teacher suddenly disrupts him, ‘Jaison, how do you think the Govt. could improve the working conditions of a Govt. bus driver.’

HE gets up with a blank stare, and thinks to himself ‘Who knows, and more importantly, who cares.’
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THE SALEM PAYBACK:
March 28th 2008, 6.00 am
Traffic signal, Kathiparab Junction, Chennai,

CRASHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

Everything in the whole wild universe comes to a standstill. The deafening crash and the ensuing silence completely overpower ‘She will be loved’ playing on the Sony player. HIS body jerks forward as if a word called inertia never existed. His seat belt is like a warrior armor strap that pierces into his own chest. His head is just a nanometer short of crashing right through the windscreen.


He just about encounters death for what seems like the longest picosecond of his life.

As if it were a preconceived shot in a blockbuster movie, he suddenly sees how it happened. A huge ‘something’ had hit them from behind, while the car was stationed at the signal. He looked at his driver, seated beside him- he was ALIVE. Shaken beyond words, he finds the door handle, which is surprisingly not jammed, and opens it. He looks for any missing body parts, but the God of small mercies had gifted him yet another life.

He steps out of the crashed car. His mind gets transported to what happened around two hours ago- at home.

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THE SAVIOUR: March 28th 2008.
Chennai, 4.30 am
Home sweet home, Chennai

HE and SHE (Jennifer and Jaison) help their mom put her bags in their Swift’s boot. She is leaving for Muscat, to see their dad, who works as a teacher there. Her flight takes off at 7am. SHE stays home, while HE hops in alongside the driver and his mom plops herself in the backseat.

They reach the airport in about forty five minutes. Before leaving, Jaison’s mother rattles ‘Jaison, take care of your sister, eat food on time, set three alarms to wake up both of you, say a little prayer every day and call me once in two days at least. Let’s say a small prayer before I leave Son.’

‘Dear Jesus, protect my children when I’m not there, and constantly be with them. Our Father who art in heaven………………………………’

************************************************
March 28th 2008.
Chennai, 6.03 am
Accident site, Chennai.

He looks at the slightly frontal-dented PTC bus, almost 10 metres behind. The bus driver sits with his mouth agape, as if he’d just woken up- from a dreamless sleep- he’d obviously been dozing when he’d hit the car. Everything still remains a traumatizing still shot, as if the director of the fictitious movie hadn’t said CUT yet.
As his eyes automatically move their line of vision to the back of his car, his eyes momentarily misses out on something.

The signboard on the bus reads ‘SALEM’.
The bus that'd hit Jaison's car came from SALEM…………’
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Life is truly a full circle. It exactly ends where it all began.
The snoozer:
'No one else is harmed, I haven’t and wouldn’t hurt a fly…… '
AND HARM HE DID- AN OBJECT THE SIZE OF A MILLION FLIES PUT TOGETHER ALMOST LOST ITS WINGS.
The Sinner:
‘I’ve done IT. Everyone does IT. THIS shall also pass- Salem can never get back at me, it's only a city…….
AND GET BACK IT DID, THE BUS FROM SALEM GOT BACK AT JENNIFER WITH A BIG BANG, QUITE LITERALLY; HER PRECIOUS BROTHER WAS THE APPLE OF HER EYE.
The Sufferer:
‘Jaison, how do you think the Govt. could improve the working conditions of a Govt. bus driver.’
HE gets up with a blank stare, and thinks to himself ‘Who knows, and more importantly who cares.’
AND CARE HE DID, WHEN HE ALMOST LOST HIS LIFE, WITH A SLEEP-DEPRIVED GOVT. BUS DRIVER CRASHING INTO HIS CAR.
The savior:
‘Dear Jesus, protect my children when I’m not there, and constantly be with them. Our Father who art in heaven………………………………’ AND PROTECT HE DID- MOTHERS KNOW THAT PRAYERS NEVER GO UNANSWERED.

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Every little thing we do meets the master surgeon in the eye; call the Master Surgeon God, Destiny, Science or any thing you wish.

Every wound sewed.. Every drop of blood accounted for.. Every aching muscle put to rest.. Every sagging nerve brought o justice..

Every little action of ours deserves the Surgeon’s meritorious reaction- good or bad, depending upon our action; he has got to complete what we started in the first place, it’s his job.

It’s the law of his nature’s balance and the nature of his penultimate balancing law.
In the simplest of words- 'IT'S SIMPLE KARMA- what goes around comes around.’
I’ve gone around penning a true story. Now, you come around to my comments section and tell us how you’ve avenged and been avenged.

PLAY IT LIKE PLAYBOY!

ROGER BUCK rolled from side to side, under the blue blanket on his sisal mat. He was dreaming of Jessica Doe, one of the doe-eyed beauties who had just moved into the condo opposite to his, just last week . He was so shy he never had the guts to talk to Jessica, but she wiggled her nose every time she caught Roger ogling at her.

“I think she likes you. When women wiggle their noses, they’re sending you those wiggly-jiggly love waves,” grunted Ronnie Buck.

His brother Ronnie Buck, was the stud-muffin- he had already started entertaining the women on the opposite side with his funny street bum antics, wacko hip-hop routines and cute, big bunny teeth.”Bunny teeth are my sex appeal, women fantasize my milk teeth in their soft flesh ” he’d hoot. ‘Life’, according to his older, dandier, crazier cousin Ronnie, ‘was to LIVE OUTSIDE THE CAGE, and play ‘The Playboy’’.

“I hear Brian, next door is going to have his Bachelor Party toNIGHT- and a little birdie told me ‘PLAYBOY’ is the theme,” rattled Ronnie Buck.


Playboy?!
Roger had always been the Mr. Goody Two shoes. All he did was keep Brendon and Belle, his parents happy, eat his food on time, chew on Apple-Gum, and kick his feet back, like he were reading the paper and secretly watch ‘Gossip Girl’, ‘Brothers and Sisters’ and ‘Desperate Housewives’, while his Aunt and Foster Mom, Amanda watched them in the hall, after a long and hard day at work. Yeah, he did Prison Break, Dexter, Heroes, CSI NY as well, but that was just when he had to prove his masculinity to the little brat Pete.


Tonight, Roger just could not sleep. The Loud Music from Brian’s Bachelor Party and teasing images of naked women called to his deep-down and stashed -in-the-basement PLAYBOY.


“Tonight, I ought to get out and have a ball .”


He was still BUCK NAKED under his blanket. He got up and walked to the Condo Latch. Surprisingly, it wasn’t shut. He pushed the front door, walked across the porch, jumped over the low-rise picket fences and scurried to the origin of all noise.


‘Here I come! I’ve finally ARRIVED! I got my Manly Whiskers-Hurrrrrrray!!’


And that’s how ROGER BUCK opened the front door to the noisy hall of his neighbour, Brian’s Bachelor Party with ‘PLAYBOY- Rock the Rabbit’ as its theme. Playboy Rabbit logos and Playboy models were glued all over the walls. Playboy Head Cushions pimped up the divans. A handmade Dartboard with Hugh Hefner(CEO and Founder of Playboy Enterprises ), surrounded by naked Playboy models sat on one wall- with Hugh’s Weeny as the Dartboard’s Bullseye. As Roger scanned the Bachelor Party Hall, plain ol’ Roger Buck said to himself, “Tonight, I’m going to be THE Rockstar PLAYBOY.”

Then, there was sudden silence. All the men in the room took their eyes off Ramoana, the stripper for the first time since she started stripping. They stared open-mouthed at BUCK NAKED Roger Buck. The hot woman, in her red  Rabbit ears and black silk garter stockings: only her Rabbit ears and black silk garter stockings, walked up to ROGER BUCK, with her golden whip falling out like Rapunzel’s single golden braid, right out from between her two rounded “ windows”, whose “knobs” right now were getting tighter with every passing second.

One man suddenly screamed out loud : ‘C’mon Ramoana, FUCK the frigging naked BUCK’. Roger never knew how they knew his Surname!

All the men joined in, ‘Buck, lose your virginity!’.

 Someone hooted, “Your name is ‘BUCK’- the ‘man’ and the ‘money’ rolled into one- Women find that combination very irresistable indeed. Give her a run for her BUCK, BUCK!”

Somewhere the Sony SA-W00 Sub-woofer blared ‘Freak n a Leash’ by ‘Korn’


“ Feeling like a freak on a leash. (You wanna see the light)


Feeling like I have no release. (So do I)…….”


The hooker walked to Roger Buck. He was in her arms in a jiffy.She put Roger in between her round ‘windows’. He licked at her ‘knobs’ and made them go hard. She rubbed noses with him. She stroked his pink-with-embarrassment ears. Then, she put her fingers in between his legs. He quivered. Her red fingernails made him squirm with anticipation. The men in the room broke into a sweaty palpitation. The party was creaching its climax with the unexpected, naked , stranger-visitor.


“Da boom na da mmm dum na ema

Da boom na da mmm dum na ema

Go!” Korn screamed on.


Roger closed his eyes and all he could think of, was............................................................. ‘Jessica Doe’!!! Suddenly, he squealed in fright, snapped out of her red fingernails, ran out of Brian’s front door and Bachelor Party, jumped over the picket fences, slid onto his garden, breezed past the front door, sprang into his Condo and skied onto his sisal mat.


From his window, he saw Jessica Doe sleeping with a smile in the opposite condo.


Tomorrow, he’d tell Jessica Doe HOW MUCH HE LOVED HER!


Being a FANCY-PANCY PLAYBOY RABBIT on the prowl was great- but ROGER BUCK had finally seen
BEYOND THE PLAYBOY. Much as he loved life outside the cage, he wore his heart on his sleeve- and it belonged to his home and hearth.
Playboys grow up to Men Rabbits of Honor.
Roger Buck had grown up into that Buck of Honour.


That was a story of Roger Buck, a Pet Male Rabbit, raised by Amanda and her son Pete, and his struggle in finding his true identity: to be or not to be the hyped ‘IT-Playboy-Rabbit’ . Interestingly, the men at the Bachelor’s party found the arrival of a male rabbit at a ‘Playboy theme’ Party the best coincidence of the night.


Amanda and Pete reared their male and female pet rabbits in multi-level Bunny Condos, and treated them with love and care. While a male rabbit is called a Buck (which is why the men at the Bachelor Party called him ‘Buck’), a female is called a Doe (which is why Jessica is Jessica Doe).The Playboy Rabbit was the ‘IT’ MALe of this rabbit community. To be or not to be the Playboy was the real question!

Every Zakir needs his True Light!

Superstars Karan and Soha play Sandeep (San) and Nandita (Nan) in a film titled ‘I’m the Boss’, where they are so sick of their manipulative Boss that they actually hatch a big plan to screw his lovely life, sexy wife and beautiful daughter.
The Dialogues are all in Hindi. I’ve transliterated them into English.

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Background: Walking into the Office canteen- Host of food stalls, colleagues in the background)
Scene 10:
Take 2:
Lights. Camera. Action.

Nan: I hate this San- we do all the dirty work, and our F*@*!t^% boss walks away with ALL the credit.’
San: Spot on Nan! It’s like we’re washing all his dirty Van Heusen linen and he walks out as Mr. Spotless White. Fucker- People should actually see how dirty his Jockey ass is: sockeye of SHIT
Cut.

Background : Table Near the sandwich/Chat stall.
Scene 11:
Lights. Camera. Action.
Take 3:

Nan: The other day, he called me to the Conference Hall when the Big Boss was also there, and I thought they were going to appreciate my work on my Market Survey Report.
Surprisingly, they never referred to the Report and asked me about all the Exquisite Designer Bag Outlets in Town. On my favorite topic, even I loosened up, and bragged about this new, Bottega Bag Outlet that was a Designer steal. In my mind, I was like, ‘Wow (whistle), even these arseholes know how to get a female employee talking and motivated.’

San: Yeah, up until last week- that (pause) was (pause) motivation. Then, it motivated you to kill him, when we found out about their bonuses from our collective Market Survey Reports and their special ‘bag shopping’ for stuffing their wives’ love handles with bootiliceous Bottega Bags.

If that wasn’t bad enough, none of us got our special bonuses for those individual Survey Reports that they had promised early last month. When questioned, moronic ‘Boss’ says, ‘Your bonuses- next month Guys’.

Nan: Next month guys!? Next month guys = (equals to) Next month guys, your asses are going to be screwed harder during OVERTIME HOURS at OFFICE with MORE REPORTS and NO BONUSES / NO PAY while I’m screwing my ugly wife’s arse at home DURING OFFICE HOURS and screwing some hot chick’s arse at the Park during MY OVERTIME HOURS.

San & Nan: URGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH (with looks of exasperation)

Cut.

Scene 12:
Take 1:
Nan: We have to screw his life- make it a complete mess.
San: We got to screw his wife and daughter as well.
Nan: God will show us the light.
San: And I will discover his wife and daughter in darkness.
Nan & San: Muhahahahahahahahahhahahhahahahahaha!

Cut.
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Kachangggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg.
A loud noise fills the sets.
Zakir, the Lightman threw the lights he had been holding onto the floor.
The Director, the Actors and everyone on the sets stared open-mouthed.

Zakir speaks animatedly,
“Lights. Camera. Action.
God, show Zakir, the lightmen the light. We are the ones who’ve been in darkness all along.
What ironic lines in your scenes!
You super stars get paid in crores for a film, sometimes even before the first shoot, and you’re doing a scene about NOT GETTING PAID, and not getting paid ON TIME? We film workers- illustrators, scenic designers, model makers, lightmen, carpenters, painters, electricians, laborers, set decorators, makeup and hairstyling artists, costume designers, etc. get 600 Rs. /day(on an average), and we’re NOT PAID IN MONTHS!
You had a scene that talks of motivation and Overtime working hours. It was a brilliant scene- especially because you stole all the lines from our lives.
As film workers, we love our cinema and we work non-stop; days and nights make no difference to us. You talk of Designer Bottega Bags? We only have swollen EYE BAGS and designer dark circles, thanks to our sleepless and thankless days and nights.
As for all the ‘screwing’ in the scenes, it’s time WE SCREW YOU!
Meet with our BASIC DEMANDS- parameters like improved working hours, payment tariffs and time limit for payment. Until then, we shall stay away from what we love.
It is peanuts for a 3.6 Billion/year Ticket sales Industry.
Give us filmworkers some credit! Every Zakir in this industry needs to be shown HIS TRUE LIGHT
CUT.”

This piece was inspired by the recent three day long Bollywood Film Workers' strike- the first of its kind in 50 years.
Quoting UNI GLOBAL UNION, “FWICE, the Federation of Western India Cinema Employees went on strike on October 1’st, 2008 The Federation, a UNI affiliate, representing over twenty film employees unions in Mumbai (Bombay) shut down all productions in Bollywood. The action was taken after many members have not been paid for months, in some cases wages had been withheld for up to six months, leaving workers on the verge of starvation. The Federation also includes the Senior Artists Association, which supports the strike. More than 100 films had stopped production. All the studios were shut for three whole days.”

ABC.. THE NEW APLHABET

Raoul walked into the projector room. It took his eyes a few minutes to adjust to the darkness.

‘Hey Sid, Does it hurt to keep the lights on?’ bawled Raoul in a mock, sing-song voice.

Silence.

The status light on the projector blinked green, as it remained in standby mode.

“I guess only my self-esteem got hurt- thank God no one saw me bellowing to an empty room. Damn You Sid!” Raoul murmured to himself in the same sing-song voice. He liked talking to himself- it gave him that extra pep on an otherwise mundane Monday.

He pressed the ON button on the Projector remote. It was a dual projection system- the two screens placed side by side suddenly brought the dark room back to life.

“And suddenly there was light…” he winked to himself with a sense of self-accomplishment.
Over the next thirty seconds, Raoul stood stupefied and tongue-tied. No words. No Sing-song gibberish.

Sheer Beauty always fit a silencer in his throat.

There were pictures of two women, side by side, on the two screens ahead of him.

The two women were as different and as alike as chalk and cheese could be. The one on the left was Anne Mirabelle: she was in her late forties – a bewitching, ‘chipped’ chalk, drawing irresistible patterns on Raoul’s mind- canvas. The one on the right was Rubelle: she was a stunning 19 year old – as invigorating as fresh cheese straight out of its first curdle.

The 19 year old Rubelle wore a white summer dress and looked like a fresh breath of air ready to take on the stench of the big, bad world. Her jet black, stray hair looked like charcoal art on a beatific face, her eyes a thousand rays of the sun’s first rays. Her full breasts were ripe and ready to pick, Raoul thought her shirt buttons to be his worst enemy for the moment. Her angelic face gave her a baby-cherry-like, cherubic glow – now, Raoul would rip open his shirt buttons to cradle that face in a father-like, protective gesture.

“It’s getting hot in here. Let’s take off all our clothes,” whistled Raoul to a bunch of non-existent guys in the background, as though he needed to force his plane off this romantic runway.

He turned to the woman on the right.

Anne Mirabelle stood there in complete contrast, as though her forty something years towered in utter defiance of the younger woman at her side. Her breasts were flat, non-existent- which gave Raoul the ‘chipped’- chalk- first- impression, but her strong and sensuous heart in that sturdy frame lent her a prolific sexiness. She looked every inch like a queen of the Immortals- like she’d weathered the toughest storms, fought the worst battles and braved all the biting bitching, and still managed to emerge a fiercely loved and staunchly respected woman. Her ear-cropped, copper-brown hair stood gelled and styled and her eyes were an open assault on the senses.

“Wine and women, the older they get, the more they have in common” said Raoul with eyes in slits.

“You’re talking to the Dating hotline 143-280-143. Which of these two women are you going to date, Sir?” Sid broke into the room with a laugh.

‘Sid, where the hell have you been?’

‘Well, you need to choose one, not me. So, I buzzed off. So, who’s the lucky one?’

‘Both of them are irresistible in their own ways. But, if you ask me, I think we have a clear winner. I’ve always had my list of corroborative conditions and my instinctive preferences. So I think I’ll go for Anne Mirabelle.”

“I knew you’d go for Anne Mirabelle. She’s the perfect choice. I got to call and let her know.”

“No, I’ll let her know myself. I will be presenting the entire Publicity Campaign of her book, ‘ABC (A Breast Cancer)-THE ALPHABET OF A BOOBLESS WOMAN’ to her today. This sensational, gutsy photo of forty-eight old Anna Mirabelle will inspire and attract women and men of all generations; it represents, in all its strength and sensuality, the Iron-Maiden who LOST it all to breast cancer, but who still came out WINNING and LAUGHING all the way.”

ANNA MIRABELLE is the Editor in Chief of PARADE, an international Fashion Magazine. In her earlier days as a model, she was known by another name – RUBELLE. After many years, as a model, fashion journalist and editorial assistant, she progressed to become ANNA MIRABELLE, Editor-in-Chief of PARADE. Her battle with Breast Cancer in recent times, followed by double mastectomy (losing both her breasts) has given ANNA a new lease of life. She shares her life- with all its ups and downs, in twenty profound and rib-tickling chapters, in her first book – ‘ABC (A Breast Cancer)-THE ALPHABET OF A BOOBLESS WOMAN’. This book is said to be a sure shot best-seller, with its sober, frank and completely ribald take on women, men, boobs, sex, cancer and much more.
Raoul is hired as Anna Mirabelle’s book publicist, and he is to choose the picture of Anna Mirabelle that would appear in her publicity Campaign, which starts a,year before the actual publishing date. He chooses the Anna of today, as opposed to the Anna 29 years ago.( aka Rubelle )

p.s.:

This entire post, including the book, is a figment of my imagination.

Don't go hunting for the book.

:)

............................THE OSSIE-PLUMES

It is a balmy Sunday morning in San Francisco. The radio blares on as the Porsche Boxter S roars down Noe Valley. 106.7 ZRock FM serves and smashes Rihaana’s ‘Shut up and Drive’ raw and hot. However, Rihaana can’t shut David and Brenda up, as they sing and talk over the top, like two very raucous love-birds fawning over each other after a high- adrenaline, sizzling Saturday night.

“What a magnificent night babe,” David smiles from ear to ear, as he effortlessly screeches to a halt at the water fountain standing at the entrance of Brenda’s one-storey condominium.

There at the end of her street, David pushes that wayward strand of hair behind her ear and smiles. He wags her finger, winks and says “Baby, stay home, do you laundry and be a good girl. You need the rest after yesterday’s heavy-duty passion and action. (winks) I’ll be out of here and back in no time.” Brenda looks into his eyes, happy tears blurring her vision, “You’re my pillar of strength and support- my well of happiness, fortitude and dynamism. I hope I make the right decision. Making it overnight is shelving it as a worst case scenario, but I know I can make it anyways.”

David had never been the counter-emotional type. He altered his tone to a teasing one, “The prognosis for the day is that you’re going to have a lazy day ahead. Go warm your butt. (Smiles)”

Brenda hugs him tight and gets out of the car. She waves to him, as he zooms out of sight. She walks into her home, kicks her stilettos into the air, puts on some loud music and decides to get real lazy.

She changes into her favorite night pajamas that smelled of flowers, from the Tide Simple Pleasures Detergent. She walks to the liquor cabinet: pours herself a glass of Zinfandel and fills her plate with the Potato Stroganoff hot from the hamburger helper her maid Maria had made her.

After the relaxed self wining and dining, she moves to the attic. “Maybe, I should pull out some old stuff, and feel good about old times,” she twitters to herself.

A cardboard box hidden in a dusty corner catches her attention. She opens it, only to find a gob of golden cookbooks collected over the years. A big blue diary catches her attention.

Her breath gets stuck in her throat as she looks at the two ostrich feathers glued atop the diary. As a six year old, when she’d been to the 600 acre Rooster Cogburn’s Ostrich Ranch on the Picacho Peak, she’d taken these two feathers as a keepsake, and filled in the dairy with marginalia of specialized ostrich egg and meat recipes, and childish doodles of the huge ostrich egg and the gummy Ostrich Goulash she’d eaten.

She carries the blue diary with ostrich feathers to bed that night. She smiles and thinks of David. She had made her decision.

The door bell wakes her up in the morning. She gets the door in her night robe. David walks in, gives her a hug. “So what have you decided?”

“I’ve decided that the theme for the next month is going to be ‘ostriches’; we could call it ‘The Ossie Plumes’! We’ll have big ostrich feathers at the grand entrance and ostrich masks given to every guest who enters. Ostrich artifacts and sculptures shall be placed at every table. We’ll have a special ostrich-fan dance by the ‘Ostricia Girls’ at the special hour and an entire ‘Ostrich egg and meat’ special on the menu. To ring in some extra greens, we could also auction ostrich boas, handbags, head-gear, leather belts, bags, wallets and other fashion accessories. Media and celebrities from every walk of life shall be there for a sneak peak on the opening Saturday of the month………” “Fantabulous,” he says. “I knew you are the best Restaurant Concept-Moghul I could ever ask for. You and I, our partnership is going to ‘cook’ up more than all our head-chef could. ”

The previous night had been a just-opened- pressure-cooker: starry-eyed, hot and steamy, yet eased out and very much in-its-element.
Saturday night had been the opening night of ‘Cornucopia’, the most awaited restaurant of the year. David, the Restaurateur of the year 2007 had begun ‘Cornucopia’ with great aplomb- the theme of the restaurant was to have a new theme every month. David had hired Brenda as his Conceptualiser. The first month’s theme had been ‘Starry eyed’ with Hollywood stars and their favorite foods doing the rounds.

Welcome to Cornucopia. Fall in love with David, Brenda and their ostriches.
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Last week's Wordzzle Challenge by Raven:
Cardboard box, liquor cabinet, ostrich feathers, longitudinal, hamburger helper, partnership, laundry detergent, magnificent, San Francisco, prognosis
And for the Mini Challenge: worst case scenario, marginalia, water fountain, specialized, fortitude.

.............................THE CROWN OF THORNS

The drums rolled. Louder and louder.
The drum-roll was so loud; it awoke the dormant Darth Vader living within the sacerdotal priest. He was sleeping in his plush bed that stood against the wall of an otherwise sparse room of the ancient rectory.

The priest twisted and turned in his bed. He sweated profusely. Somewhere, an alley cat screeched an eerie mew. In his dreams, he walked down memory lane…

To that fateful night in the Florida Prison cell, where he was administering the last rights to the Death Row Convict #8, Robert Flamingo. Chained from head to toe, Robert still had that determinate cause popping his eye-veins. In a corner of the prison cell, there lay the crab-cakes with cucumber tartar sauce. Prior to execution, a Death Row convict could request his favorite last meal.

The last rites had to be done in three stages: first, penance for sins committed, then anointing with holy oil, followed by Viaticum (Holy Communion).

Robert Flamingo told the Priest, “I’m an honest Christian. I killed the Kingpin of the Gonzales Banking Fraud- a heartless Investment and Securities Fraud. My family and 100 other unsuspecting senior citizens lost our entire life savings, as we put them in the hands of Gonzales in the form of the Dakoita Investment Offering, in return for a stabilized income at 12% interest.

Stabilized income? We ended up losing our stability and I, my sanity. I went to Gonzales to talk things out, and probably look at some kind of compensation, but he was a snotty bastard dripping with sarcasm as to how the Government could procrastinate the proceedings in the Court of Law by letting him slip through those loopholes that they would willingly create, as a sign of returning the ‘favors’ they had had sought from the fraud in the first place. I lost my cool when I saw no signs of compromise, I fell bait to a heated argument: one that I was losing real bad.

Gonzales liked to flaunt his misplaced sense of religiosity and had a thurible at his desk; a desk he liked to call his altar. I assume he wished the holy smoke from the thurible would absolve him from his scandalous sins.

“You people are like the ‘Crown of Thorns’ on God’s head. I just removed the thorns and made God’s life easier. Your money is gone forever, just like the crown of thorns,” he jeered.

I couldn’t digest it: the contrasting, far-from-holy atrocity of his deeds. I took the thurible in hand, and in one swift blow, took a deathly swing at his surprised-as-hell head. The evil, scarlet blood oozed in a stead stream onto the white ‘altar’.
I spotted a Moses’ burning bush in his office. The sugar-sweet irony kissed my triumphant face: I mean the man had not obeyed a single commandment; and here was a Moses Bush! I’d never seen pietism and putridness get along this well. Moses would have turned in his grave. I walked to the bush, made a small ‘crown of thorns’ and left it on his bleeding head.

That’s my story father. And I accept this death penalty with all my heart. I’m one small thorn who is alright with being removed, when I know the red rose can still be preserved.”

The priest had a sheet-white expression. This man was an exemplary Jesus. He anointed him with holy Oil and gave him ‘The Holy communion’. He felt privileged administering the last rites.

As he was about the leave, Robert called to him. “Father, would you help me in keeping the red rose alive?”

The priest stumbled a little, and then said, “What can I do for your people?”

Robert replied: “There are three Monster Trucks parked in these five different Church yards where Gonzales used to send clothes, furniture and other knick-knacks to; as part of his ‘Christian Deeds’. I’ve loaded them with the money that I got to recover from this bloody scam. No police or Government has gotten there. No Church has opened these either. I just got them filled out with my men last night. These are the keys. Get the money to my people.”

The priest took the keys, walked out of the prison cell, and blessed the Guards at the Door.

That was two years ago.

He woke up with a start. The sheets were still wet with perspiration. He had aided and abetted a criminal.

Then, his heart beat slowed down.
He saw those happy faces. They’d gotten their life back.

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Raven's Wordzzle Challenge: assorted words-just make a story out of them!
I loved the challenge : so took it up :)

The words for last week's ten word challenge were: flamingo, monster trucks, Darth Vader, cucumbers, sugar-free, banking, determinate, thurible, sarcasm, drums And for the Mini Challenge: procrastinate, memory lane, alley cat, argument, Florida
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..........................................:BETWEEN THE LINES

It’s a bustling Thursday evening holding on to a lot of wet promises and raindrops against a hot-aired, empty sunset. Menaka looks at her reflection in the life-size mirror sitting pretty on one wall of the lavish washrooms, on the same floor as the ‘Bike and Psych’ Pub of one of the premier multi-star hotels in Chennai. The reflection smiles back at its gorgeous mistress.

The red halter neck and the swishy purple skirt clinging to those curves and contours lend Menaka a classy, yet smoking-hot look. She runs her hands down the front of her skirt out of sheer habit, and her eyes lock on to the stunning antique ruby-red ring on her ring finger ................................................................

………………………………………………….Menaka wishes for the antique ruby-red ring to transform into a red-hot partner. Maybe tonight is the night. She smiles at her mock optimism. Menaka could be quite the Queen Bee of any group: her diva dynamism, infectious enthusiasm, maternal instincts, nightingale voice, razor-sharp wit and way with words, group-political prowess and intuitive maneuvers get her buzzing right to the centre of any hive. Hiding behind that impeccable grace and spider-web charm is a spoilt little kid; a little kid who peeps out from behind the vixen veneer, a little kid who loves to laugh and help people, a little kid who is a staunch believer in family, religion, traditions, dignity, duties and responsibilities and a little kid who hankers for real romance.

“In a city of self-proclaimed Kings, would I chance upon the shining blade of my Knight in romantic armor? Well, maybe ‘Bike and Psych’ would provide the answer,” She takes a deep breath, joins her group of friends outside the restroom, smiles and nods as she breezes past the friendly bouncers into the yellow-lit club.

She orders a Tequila Martini and her friends order pitchers of beer, a mixture of shots and cocktails. Vinod, a friend of hers sits at the adjacent table with another friend of his.

“Menaka, this place gets a hard-on when you’re here. You look gorgeous. Meet my friend Varun, the dancer extraordinaire.”

Vinod and Varun join Menaka’s table. Menaka radiates a blazing smile, hugs Vinod and shakes hands with Varun. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, and you must know, I have a thing for dancers (winks).” Varun wears a red party shirt, teamed with black trousers. Menaka smiles inwardly at the thought she tries to push down her fluttering heart, “He’s your red-hot partner, something tells me….”
Varun returns a suave smile and says, “Not really a trained dancer, but invisible dancing shoes have a thing for me when I see beautiful women like you and my feet itch to dance.”

Menaka and Varun move opposite to each other. Everything and everyone around them fades into colorful oblivion. Their glasses clink and they gulp down their drinks. The hunter eyes the prey; only, neither of them knows who really the hunter was and who, the prey.

The First Time I saw you
you were standing In the Rain
there was something about you
that made Me Look Again
the Way That You Let The Rain
fall Down On You
the Way That You Smile
when Your Eyes Met Mine
ooh,Ooh...”- Courtesy Wise Guys (The first time I saw you)

“Can I have this dance?” asks Varun.
Menaka blushes and replies, “Oh Yeah, Why not?”

Varun draws her into a merengue sequence. Menaka knew a little jive and had always taken well to a male lead in a couple dance. “But this is whopping different,” she muses, as he led her into Caribbean twists and twirls.

As if he heard her muse, Varun tells her, “This is quite simple. Just follow me.” He suddenly put his hands over her head, loops it down her upper back and waist, comes spine-chillingly close for a tingling second, and when she closes her eyes to savor the feeling, he twists her on his right feet, does a side basic and leaves her untouched, into a dizzying twiddle, only to touch, steady and coax her into the next forward basic movement.

“Lady, swing you hips along with mine. It lends a deep flavor to this dance.” Menaka blushes at the all the activity hip-down.
“A lot of things are swinging in your favor, least of all the flavor,” she quips in an unperturbed voice. Inside, she was quivering.

The lady in red is dancing with me
Cheek to cheek
There’s nobody here
Its just you and me
It’s where I want to be
But I hardly know this beauty by my side
Ill never forget the way you look tonight. .. -courtesy Chris De Burgh, Lady in Red.

They settle into a romantic trance. The hunter had lost. The prey had won.
Only, here there was no hunter but two prey going in circles around each other. Only time would reveal the outcome of this chase.
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BETWEEN THE LINES
She runs her hands down the front of her skirt out of sheer habit, and her eyes lock on to the stunning antique ruby-red ring on her ring finger ........................……………………………………..
It replaces her more expensive, but boring diamond-wedding ring. To her advantage, age is her beauty’s most unwanted alibi: ‘Forty something and sexy’ is quite rare in her part of the world. Her marriage had spoken only two exquisitely beautiful words to her all through its life- her two beautiful children. Those two beautiful words alone had coerced her into forming her marriage into a decent life-sentence. Now, those two words had also flown away and become birds with their own nests leaving Menaka all alone in her empty nest......................................
Menaka wishes for the antique ruby-red ring to transform into a red-hot partner. Maybe tonight is the night.

If ever marriage becomes an unsatisfied hunter, and the hunter becomes his own inescapable prey, there’s nothing wrong in burying the gun, taking up the gauntlet and shooting other arrows. Age is never a barrier for breaking free and seeking true companionship.
My dream is to fly
Over the rainbow so high
My dream is to fly
Over the rainbow so high..-- Courtesy Yves Larock - Rise Up