Definitely Maybe ...

Random stuff in my head. Everyone's invited.

[writer-saab]

A Million Little Dollars

“Maybe I can get that chalet in Tuscany.”

“I could just not work; stop completely as they say.”

“I could probably donate, but then again that’s not the person I am -I don’t like giving.”

“So, what can I do?”

A lifeless suitcase stashed with a million dollars stared right back at him. 

It was an ordinary morning -bathroom, breakfast and breaking news. He liked to leave his house with the drapes drawn and that is exactly what he was doing, when he saw a black leather suitcase on his porch.

And now it was here on the couch that costed him less than a hundred bucks. 

He didn’t have much debt, just the usual deductions.

This was not a miracle; he could count the number of good deeds over the past 28 years. This was not a mistake; no one tried to hide the suitcase. This was not a gift; he knew no one loved him enough to give him that much. 

This was one of those days when life dared you to play along.

It was then that he realised how he didn’t have anything on his mind,

“How is this going to make a difference? I’m going to be the same person even after I spend it on all the things I think I want.”

“Maybe I’ll take the day to figure out what to do”

He left the suitcase on the couch and made a dash for work. And all he did the whole day was make a list of things that could possibly make him feel better. This whole process of not having anything in mind killed him. 

Was there anything in the world he really needed right now? 

There was nothing on the list. 

He made his way back home only to find smoke, ashes, black charred walls and a bunch of fire fighters. Apparently, the neighbours caught sight of a thick black smoke and called in.

Fucking fantastic.

And this too he accepted. It’s gone. There’s really nothing. The insurance will cover this up and I’ll have my ordinary life back minus the million dollars that would’ve changed nothing. 

He was relocated for a month opposite a dingy bar. 

This was temporary just like the suitcase. He forgot about everything in one drink and kicked back everyday after work with Netflix. 

Same old, same old. 

“Today is the end of the month which means I will get my salary and move back to my house and carry on.”

It was then that his phone beeped. 

“Oh yes, salary.”

He dumped his chips next to him and crawled to his phone. Stared for a good 5 minutes at the message that read, “USD 1,000,000 has been credited into your account 101-XXXXX-305″

Life is strange.

[writer-saab]

Clowns

It takes a lot to come to terms with something that you've been holding back for a long time. 3 years to be exact. 'Is this your first time?' By the sound of his voice he seems bored, tired, almost like he knows what my problem is. He knew it the minute I stepped in. To be precise - he knew the solution to my problem the minute I stepped in. 'I see clowns.' Exactly 30 seconds of silence. 'Continue...', I've got him hooked. 'It started about 3 years ago. It was a little after my first job. I work as an analyst by the way. It was not a brand new field altogether but somehow I felt at that this was going to change my life-' '-And it did. You started seeing clowns. Great. When did you see the first one?' 'It was sometime around the monsoon season. I came out for a smoke. I was really bored and I needed a smoke real bad. So, I walked out to the terrace with a cup of coffee and I saw a clown sitting out in the rain.' 'Just sitting?' 'Well yes. In fact, I tried talking to it. Didn't say anything. He just stood there at a distance and stared back.' 'That's weird...' 'And then it laughed...hysterically' 'Did it disappear after laughing?' 'I was so confused, I just went back in. The next time I came out, it was gone.' 'Do these clowns show up when you're always going for a smoke break?' 'No, I thought of that too. I thought, maybe it's this stress or this pressure to come up with something amazing all the time. But it really is not.' 'How do you know that?' 'Because I remember laughing uncontrollably at a joke my friend cracked and then out of nowhere I see this clown at a distance looking at the both of us and then it pointed at me and started laughing.' 'Have you seen these clowns at other happy occasions?' 'My birthday, this concert I went to, friend's wedding...' 'So what, you just walk away from these things?' 'Yep. I mean, they keep laughing at me no matter what I say, some of them copy me by repeating the exact same thing, sort of like a nag, some just endlessly make fun of me...' 'Are you very verbal about your opinions?' 'Yea, I would like to think so' 'Ok let me frame my question again. Do you make sure everyone around you knows how you feel about a particular subject at any given time?' 'Yes.' 'What if no one wants to hear it?' 'Well then, I make sure they do know about it anyways later or whenever.' 'And when you're making a point, do you see clowns?' 'Yes. They hear what I have to say and then they laugh at me. If they don't agree why do they keep following me around?' 'Maybe subconsciously, you don't believe or practice what you're saying and that's why your mind is showing you clowns to make you realise that by talking about something so matter-of-factly is equal to making fun of it.' 'Hmm...I think I'm getting somewhere' 'That's a good start. Anyways it's been 45 minutes. See you next week then? Same time?' I nod and make my way out. I feel lighter, much relaxed. Maybe I should start- '-Oh and one more thing' I stop by the door. He looks up from his desk and flashes a smile. He curtly says, 'Delete your Twitter account.'

[writer-saab]

My New Blog!

Hello, awesome followers!

I'm sorry I haven't blogged for a while. 

But it's only because I was busy with my 3rd Tumblr blog and it's out! 

Say, hello to http://clicksandcats.tumblr.com/

Follow, share, like and reblog! 

Also, I promise to write more.

[writer-saab]

Why'd you stop writing?

Wow, I never thought I'd get a question for this blog but, I guess not enough inspiration (which I'm trying to turn around, really) 

Hopefully, this Jan will be different. Also, I got caught up with photography..so..that'll be another blog soon.

Did you read any of the stories? 

[writer-saab]

Surprise!

He was exactly like the picture in his storybook. 

Plump, tall, white bearded, he wore a red suit.

'You came!', he jumped up with joy. 

He turned to look at a boy who was now, running around in circles.

'Another spoiler..', he thought to himself.

'HO HO HO', he heartily called out to the boy who was so happy to bust his own surprise. 

'You're real! I knew it!'

'Well, if you knew it, why did you wait up?'

Exhausted with all the excitement, he sat on the floor and pat his plump hand beside him. Santa took a seat next to the boy, who then started playing with his beard.

'So white...', he panted a little too much as he ran his fingers through.

'You didn't answer me, why did you wait up?'

'Just..', he shrugged.

'People out there are waiting for something to happen. Waiting just like you-running around in circles, killing their sleep, not dreaming because they're all waiting to see that they are right. So, next time you believe in something, let it come to you.

Let life surprise you.'

The boy nodded. 'Surprise..', he mumbled.

'Now, I'm going to put your surprise under the tree but you have to promise me that you won't open it..'

The boy looked at the tree. 'TREE!', he shouted, his eyes grew wide as he ran towards a mass of heavily decorated green leaves in the corner of the room.

Singing a song, more to himself, he pulled out a big box wrapped in white paper with red ribbons, labelled 'Santa', dragged it to the fat man that sat puzzled on the floor.

He parted his lips, smiled with all his white pearly teeth and screamed: SURPRISE!

[writer-saab]

500 Rupees.

I cant get over this one dream that I've been having for the past two weeks. 

It comes in about every 3-4 days. 

I don't know if dreams have any meaning, but I think this does.

So every night, when I go to sleep. I dream of my school. There's no grade specified, I look what I look like right now and I'm dressed in my uniform. 

In this dream though, it never moves from one lecture to another, it directly starts from the break time, or 'recess'. And I realize that I have lost my wallet.

My wallet has exactly 500 rupees, and all my cards. From my Pancard, other identification, debit cards and one note of 500 rupees. 

This wallet is actually a card carrier, so it's petite and completely black all over.

Every time I get this dream, I'm at recess, checking my pockets and I say exactly this, 'SHIT! Where's my wallet?!'

Now, the only thing that changes is the person standing next to me. Back in my school days, I had a friend circle of eight people, including me. In one dream, I'll say this to one friend, the other dream to another one and so on.

The dream moves from me saying, 'Shit! I've lost my wallet!' to finding that girl, with my friend beside me. Which then leads on to this girl not giving me my wallet back.

And I always say this, 'Why the hell isn't she giving me back my wallet?! At least give me my 500 Rupees!' 

After which, she takes out my wallet, pulls out a crisp note of 500 bucks and hands it back to me. 

And then I leave.

Now, I've been trying to find out why exactly don't I take my whole wallet back?

It's weird, because, think about it, that wallet has at least three separate cards that prove my identity and what I do. But I'm only happy when I get 500 rs. I'm not even bothered about the rest of the cards. 

I always get my money at the end of every dream.

I haven't really ever analysed dreams.

But there is a fear that creeps within every time I think about this particular dream.

The fear being that one day, I might swap my identity for money and be okay with it. 

[writer-saab]

There's Something About Mr.Wade

He has a lot of knives.

Just yesterday I saw him drag a coffin up the stairs. I stood there frozen and all he did was smile. He always dresses in black. Okay, maybe not always, but most of the time.

There's just something about Mr.Wade. Around his late forties maybe, he doesn't even have a wife. Why was he dragging a coffin?

No kids, I'm pretty sure no will, no fortune for crying out loud, nothing! Why is he so creepy? It started few days back when I saw caught him painting his lips red.

It's the red that you'd see at the dentists. 

Who leaves their door wide open like that?!

'Its not like he's been doing it forever!'

He has stocked up on black paint. He even called me to take the delivery myself because he wasn't at home. Painting your walls black is just twisted and don't get me started on the latex leggings.

It's a forty year old guy in leggings. Do you have any idea of how disturbing that is?

'Has he had blood?'

No, just red wine.

'Mmm, tough one.'

Tough one?? Wait, are you buying into this story that I'm living next to a vampire/dracula/BDSM loving forty year old?

'Well, yeah. Everything fits. It's either that or he's setting up a huge Halloween Party...'

The boys took a moment. 

Mr.Wade was dressed in black, including the leggings that stuck to his old-wrinkly skin, he poured himself red wine by the bonfire and slowly twisted the knife in his hand.

He looked back at the door. Two delicious boys were right across the hall.

[writer-saab]

The Tortoise & The Hare

He was practicing for days.

Woke up everyday, had a carrot, nibbled on some grass & jogged for an hour straight. But when he saw the tortoise standing on the track parallel to his, he felt defeated.

A month's long effort & hard work helped him muster some anger which showed easily in his pointy ears.

He went up to the tortoise.

'Hey..'  He turned around, quite slowly, well, quite obviously. 'Are you seriously going to run with me?' The tortoise studied the specimen. Pointy ears, athletic physique, small whiskers, long legs, well groomed hare. 'Looks like it..?' 'Why?' 'Why?', he was confused. 'Yes, exactly, why? I have worked so hard for this race. I was looking forward to a worthy opponent.' 'Okay, what if I'm a worthy opponent..?'

The hare looked at his dark green wrinkles. 'No you're not. I wanted to win this race with a lot of sweat, but I guess I'll just pass an hour giving you a heads up.'

The tortoise was offended. 'Would you rather have me all buffed up?' 'You don't get it..I worked so hard for this race, I'm really fast, I know that & I thought that I was going to really get some tough competition but with you here-'

'What's with this whole 'competition' thing?' The tortoise butted.  'Wha?' 'Yeah, I mean you are all, I want a strong competition, worked so hard, blah blah, look at my wristband, is it so important for you to bring someone down or prove yourself?'

'Are you telling me you're here for fun? You don't have a motive behind this?'

The tortoise had had enough. 

'You know what, my only motive for today was to referee this match and mark these perfect parallel lines so that athletes do not cross each other while running..'

There was silence. The hares ears turned plum.

'Oh god, I'm really sorry..'

'No you've really pissed me off now. I'm going to run this freaking marathon just to prove to you that there's absolutely no glory in being number one.'

[writer-saab]

Enter PussyFoot

'Hands up! I'm a cop!' 'Dude, you've got the wrong-' 'I'm a COP GODDAMMIT! TALK WITH YOUR HANDS UP!' 'Pussy foot what the hell is wrong-??' 'I DON'T TALK TO PEOPLE WHOSE HANDS AREN'T UP!!'

'Okay, here, here! My hands are up, now listen....you've got the wrong address...'

He was standing in an Aircraft that had been delayed for five hours. Although, it pulled a classic Air India problem, passengers were filled with hope that maybe sometime today, this flight will take off, but as usual they fell prey to Pussyfoot, the 12th grade dropout from a decent looking town, where men had nothing better to do than to take science stream & eventually succumb to the force.

PussyFoot takes out a paper, 'It reads, B-12874 street..' 'Yea, that's the number of the AirCraft...now, must you be so loyal to your job, I would have to ask you to kindly fuck off this aluminium baby..', he pat his back reassuringly.

The paper wasn't handed to him, it was found at a homicide of a cow.

It lay next to the thick chalk outline. A paper, that read exactly-'B-12874.' The 'street' part was just an addition to PussyFoot's intellect. 

PussyFoot made his way down the stairs and started walking the empty runway.

'Homicide of a cow, with the words of an AirCraft, was the murderer on the plane?' 

He turned around as the plane took off.

Woops. Bad timing. 

PussyFoot made his way back inside the airport. 

'Got your man?' 'Ummmm, naa....' 'You know at times like these I would go to the FBI..' 'I am the FBI..' 'Right, at times like these I would just retire..' 'I'm 23..' 'Hey did you get a new place by the way..' 'Oh yea, some guy lives there, I sent him my backpack with a note in it, that reads-I'm Coming'...'

'Any idea of his name?' 'Naa, I like mysteries. I just hope he doesn't think I'm a girl or some..' 

[writer-saab]

That Day On The Boat

'Sometimes we see dolphins on that side..', he pointed to his left.

We stood up as the boat rocked. Small, soft waves don't scare.

I pushed my straw hat a little lower. 'I can't see anything....'

It was not that cold in Goa, just about the right time to go with friends. We sat back and stared at the sea.

Quiet waves, the sun said hi. I stood, gaping at the sea, waiting for a dolphin. 

'It'll come, it'll come, don't worry, you'll just have to wait patiently.'

I sat back and stretched out my legs on the wooden plank that separates the seats.

No one spoke.

The boat rocked like a baby's cradle, bouncing softly on the waves, making small ripples. And that's when I thought, what if we all died here, right at this spot.

Would the dolphins come and save us? 

Obviously, it's a really scary thought, but what if there was a big huge wave that toppled the boat over, would the dolphins come and save us?

It sounds more like getting a glimpse of Santa or Peter Pan, but in my head, that sounds like a genuine doubt.

No one spoke. 

Must be strange for a dolphin, to hide from a bunch of people, who have spent a bomb to ride a boat in the middle of the sea, just to see them. 

My friend stood up again. She straightened out her shirt & squinted. She moved from left to right, and turned a full circle. Her eyes searching for a fin. 

'Are you sure they come around..'

'Yes, of course they do...maybe they're just scared..'

She sat back down. 

No one spoke. That day on the boat, we didn't speak to each other. We weren't mad, nor disappointed; we were at peace. We needed this, this silence. This time to ourselves. Did we really take a boat out in the ocean to catch a glimpse of the dolphin?, or did we do that because we knew, that peace was out there. 

And just this once, we realized how easy it was not to say anything, for sometime.

To stay mum, to sit down and gather your thoughts, to not care about fear, or death, or impending danger. 

A dolphin out in the ocean had not heard a word from the boat. It rocked steadily at the same point. It looked at the boat, with four friends who sat quietly while a man overlooked the sea. 

My friend pointed her hand in a frenzy, 'LOOK! A DOLPHIN!'.

We got up and saw a tiny fin making it's way through the waves. 

There was a sudden noise. We spoke again, discussed the fin, the dolphin, the sea, and the boat went back to the busy shore.

[writer-saab]

The Yellow Zipper

This pub was nothing special. It was a small block of alcohol church in a street that had an uncanny resemblance to my college mess.

And to this very small pub, on this random day, I saw him, perched on one of those elevated chairs, that don't allow you to slump.

Alone, sitting with a cigarette in his hand and playing with the lemon on his drink. Just like the last time I saw him.

'HEY!!!'

It was intended to be loud. He turned around.

Slightly baffled, he said, 'Um, Do I know you?'

'Well, no not really, remember last year on this very same day, I saw you..Remember?' His eyes moved upward; he was thinking. 'Nope, no clue..' I sat up straight, took the last sip of my whiskey & spoke. I have a photographic memory, I couldn't have been wrong.

'Remember, last year, I was sitting here with my wife, I saw you, I asked you for a lighter & you gave me a yellow zipper...?'

He took out a yellow zipper from his pocket. 'You mean this?'

'Yeah! Exactly, that one! And then we spoke about how this zipper was given to you by someone you loved..' He chuckled slowly. 'Yea..I say that to everyone, but seriously, I don't remember you..'

'Oh, C'mon! You told me about how after that, you never bought any other lighter! Don't mess with my memory man!'

He chuckled a little more. 'Dude, this is really amusing, trust me it is, but I seriously, don't remember you.., where's your wife though?'

I looked back at my empty glass. Betrayal is not easy to forget. 

'She, umm..she ran away with someone else...' He turned around, 'Jeez, man...I'm really sorry..why did she leave..?' 'I don't know, maybe he was ...better than me..?'

He nodded.

'Anyways, you really don't remember me? We spoke for about six hours straight!' 'No, dude, I talk a lot when I'm drunk but I would've remembered you...somehow I just can't..not right now for sure..'

Maybe, I'm just too drunk, too lonely. It's been a while since I held a conversation with someone for over 5 minutes. I want to talk again, see some familiar faces.

I take out a couple of bills and place them under my glass.

'Well, I'm off...see you when I see you..' 'Bye!' 

He turned back to his drink, the bartender laughed softly.

'You seriously, didn't expect me to say 'Oh Yaa I Remember?!'

The bartender stood behind the counter, a spectator to a fine short play. He laughed in his head. 'But I gotta say that guy has a quite a memory..', he said, still laughing. 

'Just get me my bill okay?', he grunted. 

'Okay, dude,'. He took a piece of paper scribbled the numbers & handed it to the man, who struggled with his back pocket.

'You be thankful he doesn't know, that she ran away with you..'

The man stubbed his cigarette, 'I know right?' 

[writer-saab]

Cocaine Baby

'TAXI !!'

I screamed louder than one should when they have a sore throat. The driver can't hear with his windows rolled up of course, but we still tend to scream our lungs out. 

He'll think to himself, 'What an idiot, he knows I can't hear him. Maybe, I should give him a ride.' 

Courteously he stops on the side and waits for me to get in.

I'm cold, I shiver. Wearing three layers of innings doesn't help. 

'You cold?', he asks. 

We're even on the stupidity part. 

He pops in a cd. I'm guessing, he took time out from his busy life & gathered up a few songs that make him feel good. The only problem is, he had a bad taste in music. 

'OH JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, I HATE THAT SONG!'  'Wha..?'

'That song, that stupid...meaningless song, I hate it..could you please turn it off?' 'You hate Guns N Roses?'

'Okay, firstly, it's 'Gun's AND Roses', secondly, Yes...now switch it off, make this ride worthwhile..'

'Why do you hate this song?! Are you crazy? Axl came out with really good song..' 'C'mon seriously? Axl? You want to really listen to a pothead, go listen to Kurt..'

He rolled his eyes. 'Oh right, sure, let's listen to the guy who had bowel problems..' I sat up straight, this was getting serious. 'Hey, Axl jumped out of a helicopter in one of his songs and landed on a dolphin....he needed some laxative..not Kurt..'

The song was still going on.

'I'm not turning the song off, but tell me something, haven't you found it a little weird how we follow these pothead icons & worship them forever?'

I took a minute. He was right in a way.

'You got a point there you know, but tell me this, which person right now, in their right mind, stands as a figure that you could look up to..?'

He drove silently for sometime.

Exactly, five coffee shops later he said, 'But you didn't answer my question, why do we look up to these guys who weren't in their senses at all, even their music, their lyrics don't make any sense..'

'I think it's an escape. And it's good. But to tell you the truth, if I saw a pothead right now, singing meaninglessly, I would judge him.'

'But here's the funny part- Kurt would still be alive had he not been what he was..it was all his fault..' 'And here's the catch- he wouldn't have been famous..'

I sat back & looked at my window. Few more minutes for my stop. I was going to meet an old friend, spend the evening & eventually have sex.

Then I would take a cab back home.  

Somewhere round the corner, I see a guy waving his hands frantically, screaming 'Taxi'.

The cab driver stops & lowers his window, 'You fine?'

He bend over a little, that's when I saw the drops of sweat on his face, his hair messed up, eyes wide awake. 

His hand dug deep in his pockets, gripping something solid, metallic, shivering as they do; made the outline of a gun.

I have seen that look before. 'Fuck, this guy is high..', I thought to myself. 

What's worse?

He wore a Nirvana shirt.

[writer-saab]

Ms. Sushi

Perfect pair of legs, straight hair, well-kept, tidy, flawless skin with the most captivating pair of green eyes-that is my love.

The first time I saw her, was right across the road.

We have been living opposite each other for over four years now.

Someday, she'll notice me.

I've tried very hard, you know, I try to catch up but she's quite the sprinter. For god's sake, I even eat whatever she eats!

I'm not really fond of fish. Fish is this lifeless, colorless, boring piece of flesh. The most dependent of them all. You've got to color it, decorate it, give it some tinge and then it really tastes good. 

I'd say I try much harder than a piece of fish.

Nonetheless, I gulp it down just like she does. She keeps going to this over-rated sushi bar every Tuesday night. So, I tag along too. I don't get my hands on the sushi much, so I just stay in a corner and look at her.

Grabbing the sushi right off the plate and into the mouth; she eats it with no style. 

I do the same.

This one day, I felt something strange. It was Tuesday, I was at the Sushi Bar and I saw her getting really close to this one guy.

I can't describe in words what I felt, but I'll try. 

Hot, it was definitely hot. Sweat dripped all over my face. The dead fish chuckled from the counter, internal bleeding, I think.

My heart started beating really fast, pumping blood to my veins, my hands, nose, charging me with so much force. My heart wants vengeance.

'Disgusting..'

I leaped at the guy. I don't know what happened next but I scared her off. I was thrown out of the bar. Kicked around a few times. She never turned, just ran away.

I covered my eyes. 

I watch her everyday. Wait for her, even keep track of where she goes and whom she meets.

She is angry with me, I know it.

I slump on my bed and look across the street. She reaches home, alone. Fixes her hair. She doesn't even need a mirror.

And I think to myself, 'If only cats wore jewels..'

[writer-saab]

The adventures of BlowJob & PussyFoot

'At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom!'

There is a knock on the door.

'Mr. ummm...BlowJob?'

Glide towards the door, see the delivery guy through the key hole the size of my fist.

He wears orange pants, a white crisp, half-sleeved shirt, black cap that reads 'delivery' and a very stupid man purse.

Fling the door open to reveal my identity.  

'Here's your man purse..'

Oh!

'Umm, what?..' 'You're name..and sign..'

'Hope it's not a penis..heh', he spoke to himself.

I can read minds. 

I don't acknowledge good service, so I bang the door on his face and look at the man purse.

Brown, leather, good enough to sneak in a full chicken, three zips, nice strong sling, cannot take the monsoon though, but here's a weird thing, it's a paper.

Folded into a rhombus. I unfold it and read, 'I'm coming..'

I'm going to take sometime and think of my ex-girlfriends, my landlord, my mom. But I just don't know who would be stupid enough to send me a man purse with a death threat.

Flick the cellphone open, scroll down to contacts and go alphabetically from A-G. Nope, all guys, no chick.

Sadness engulfs me as I realize that I haven't had a sexual encounter for over a year now.

'Please come..', I find myself saying this.

More like, 'I hope it's a girl..'

Hopes turn into dreams. I'm dramatic like that. I have to find out who is coming, for the main reason being, I'm lonely and the sub-reason being, I have to look good.

Whoever you are, I'm coming too.

My name is BlowJob.

'And to India, our much-loved motherland, the ancient, the eternal and the ever-new, we pay our reverent homage and we bind ourselves afresh to her service.

JAI HIND! Jai Jawan!' 

[writer-saab]

Odd Enough To Share My Room

'Get that..'

It was lying on the floor and he was freaking out. I moved towards it.

'Okay, no wait! Don't get that..'

Stopped in my tracks and looked back at him.

'Actually, get that..'

'Do you want me to get it or NOT?!', I screamed.

It's so difficult to live with this person. For one, he is always confused and two, he can never play a sport. So boring. What was I thinking?

'Seriously, when I asked you to move in, what was I thinking?' 'Umm, you weren't. You were desperate for money and you said 'Get in.' Those were your exact words.'

Damn it.

'Actually you know what, don't get that..' 'HOLY SHIT! Why can't you just make up your mind?'

Hypocritical question, especially when it comes from someone who doesn't know what they're doing and why they're doing it, almost every time. Career, education, sex, it's a lotto in my head. But I'm allowed to judge, cause I'm me.

'You know, I don't need your shit. I'll get it myself.' 'You do know that I'll be doing the rest of the work yea?'

Looked at me with empty eyes.

'It's not my fault I wasn't good at sports or just athletic, or I don't know weirdly...strong..' 'But you went ahead and got it anyway, just tell me if you want to get that or not? Leave it up to me then'

'Fine get that...'

He gave up. This guy was odd but in all honesty he told me that when he first came in.

'I'm odd.' 'Okay, why?' 'I don't know, can't you tell?' 'How can I tell? I just met you..' 'Oh yeah...right...' 'Yeah, you are Odd.'

I quickly started wrapping, I'm very good with weights. I'm not bragging but I have this weird strength. 

'Wow, you're fast huh' 'Yep.' I was getting a little tired.

'You know what, thanks man..for everything. Although you judge people, you take them for what they are anyways..'

Does this guy know me AT ALL? I'm just a coward really, I'll judge them good and then bitch about it with my right hand.

'Yeah, shut up now.' 'Uhuum' 'Where did you find it anyways?' 'You know, just lurking around..'

Three months since he's moved in and that's always his answer-Just lurking around. This should be a legitimate occupation - Lurker.

My roommate is a lurker. 

'I promise, I won't do it again.' Lurker seemed serious.

The job is done. I coughed twice and got up on my knees. I was panting. Enough shit taken from a lurker. 

'Pass me the knife'

He went quickly behind the counter and got a small one. I looked at the knife and then at him.

'Oh, right..' he went behind the counter again and got the butcher's knife. Yes, I keep all types of knife. Jeez.

One big swing and the head was apart. Another big swing for it's legs and another and another. There's a real pleasure in cutting up.  

'Wow, you're a pro..' 'Well, I'm always here to do your dirty work, aint I?' 'Yea..you're a good roommate..'

Few minutes more.

I cut it up good and laid back, looked at it's body. Killed around four days back, the blood was drained already, bones pure white.

I panted, sweat a little around the forehead, rubbed it with my sleeve and sat back staring at the parts. 

I was looking at him. He wasn't a bad roommate. He just had a very ugly habit & he did remind me about his 'odd' behavior in the start. I ignored everything. I ignore a lot of things.

'Thanks man..', he whispered.

Maybe, I should tell him that I can't take his shit anymore. But anyways, he wouldn't share this with me after that. 

Should I tell him?

'Listen man..'

He looked up at me..

'Don't just get these things from anywhere okay...'

He nodded. 

'And one more thing..'

He looked up again.

'Happy Thanksgiving..'

[writer-saab]

The Shallow Side

'Why can't I go outside?' 'Just..I told you..' 'But why?' "Because, I said so. Now don't bug me' "Okay, so can I go out for a swim?' 'Nope.' 'Why?' 'Just..cause I said so.'

He couldn't quite understand. He was 3 feet tall, seven years of age and a great swimmer. His mom was over protective about him and that's what he hated the most.

His parents encouraged swimming. By the age of 15 he would probably take part in the Olympics. He couldn't ask for more.

But what was up with his mom?

Every year, he would be locked up for ten whole days. He was given the best of meals, clothes, gadgets but they would not let him swim.

'Why do you guys do this to me? You know I can't stay without swimming!!' 'Don't ask too many questions. This is for your own good! We are your parents after all, we'll always think the best for you!' 'But, but..I want to swim..'

And he would start crying, stamp his feet, wail a little more until he got tired, ate and slept.

What is it about swimming? After all, it's just re-enacting a fish. 

Then he would console himself. Swimming really makes him feel free. Surrounded by invisible layers of parental shields, he would rather immerse himself in water all day. He could make his own house underwater. Cold all day, floating, diving, breast stroke, butterfly, backstroke, frog style, he would do them over and over again.

Did his parents really have to lock him up every year for ten days. What was the point? If left alone, he could easily make himself a sandwich or read a book, make his bed and go back to sleep whenever. He would make sure all the lights are off, he knew all his lessons. So why this ten day torture?

He counted everyday. One day, three days, five.

He would wait impatiently for the tenth day. 

It was the eighth.

'Two more days mummy, then I'll go swimming okay?' 'Ya, ya. Go swimming in two days..uff'

Ninth day and he was already thinking of his trunks and fins.

'I'm seven and I'm still wearing swimming fins..', he thought to himself.

'I'm going to loose the fins!'

It was the tenth day.

He jumped up in joy! Sprung out of his bed and wore his trunks.

'SWIMMING!!!'

His mom served him breakfast. Juice and bread toast. Good to go. He ran around the house a little, it was like a victory lap. His mom laughed at him. Cartwheels and a few jumps, he found himself running towards the pool.

He saw the deepest end.

'YES!'

Making way to the diving board he ran up to the plank, bounced twice and dove in like a cannon ball. His bottoms touched the floor of the pool.

Ripples and small bubbles floated above him. His eyes wide. It was so quiet in here, so peaceful. The water cleared out a little. He saw the steps in the far end. 

He sat underwater for sometime. He didn't move.

Trembling hands punched in the numbers, waited for the dial tone, while tears made their way down the telephone wires.

'Hello? What happened?' She couldn't speak. Shock left her mute. 'Are you fine?! What happened? Is everything okay?' 'Ga.....gan....gan..' 'Ganesh? What happened to him??' She sobbed a little more.

'he....he drowned.....'

[writer-saab]

My Followers

The first time he saw a clown was at a graduation speech in an esteemed University.

It was, according to him the most 'motivational' speech he had ever written in his life. But honestly, it was like any other speech you would hear in a graduation ceremony. 

It was at this ceremony, that he saw his first clown.

'Standing before me, is the future of this country. I have walked these aisles, lived in these domes and sat on those very same chairs that you all have. These memories will never fade, my friends. They will crawl back into your lives and remind you of everything that has-'

He wore a polka dotted outfit, red nose, fluffy yellow hair and a hat. It smiled and waved at him while everyone else waited for him to finish his sentence.

'This is some joke right?', he thought.

After that, the next clown was seen at the news debate. His popularity had earned him a TV spot with a few other people. Prime time shows, where everyone gets together and debates over a subject. Not many people were bothered about this program but it was considered to be an intellectuals debate.

'Paul, I told you! The youth doesn't care about all this anymore. Everything is commercial now, nothing is subtle about this generation and the most weirdest part is-'

He stopped as he looked at the panel of people who stared back at him from a TV screen. One of the screens had a clown- red hair, polka dots, clown shoes and a fluffy hat. He wore a mic on his outfit and made faces at him.

The last clown was seen in his office, sitting right beside him. At that time, he was talking to himself.

He went in for therapy.

'It's like everytime I try to prove my point...I see a clown..' 'Uhuun..', the doctor wasn't interested. 'Sometimes, they repeat what I say..again and again...why would they do that?' 'Are you sure they are clowns?' 'Yes! 100%!' 'Okay, so how many are following you now?' 'There;s 12 sitting right behind you..'

The doctor turned around to see his framed merits on a wall, staring back at him.

'Right, I think there's a problem here.' 'What's that?' 'The problem is, that you are trying really hard to prove your point. So hard, that it's driving you mad.'

He sat up a little, 'What?' 'Think about it, why do you only see clowns? Maybe you make fun of yourself in your head, of your own opinions and it's all a projection of your hypocrisy..' He nodded a little, 'Makes sense, makes sense..'

He lied back down and stared at the ceiling.

But that didn't stop the clowns. They kept multiplying and followed him everywhere. To his room, his bed, his work place, at any event-the clowns would follow.

He noticed that whenever he framed an opinion, these guys would show up.

'This happens only when I talk...', he thought to himself.

Maybe they would go away, if he stopped talking. Maybe...

A few years later there were very few of them left. Things were fine. He gradually stopped sharing his views. He was like a box full of secrets. He would never give his opinion, never take sides and most of all never retaliate. 

If anyone had their view, he would listen and talk about it a little. The clowns slowly started disappearing. Only a few followed him.

He found himself reciting the story to his friend. 

'Are you serious?' 'I know right? I have never told this to anyone..' 'That is so weird..' 'I know..But they're gone now....no more clowns.' 'When was the first time you saw a clown?'

He pondered a little.

'I think it was that graduation ceremony, I was giving a speech and then he just appeared in the crowd..' 'You mean that ceremony at the University? The same one you were invited at?'

'Yeah, why?' 'They had a carnival that was supposed to go right after the graduation. The University hired a bunch of clowns..'