Vanitha (UnCut)

Just a small addition I am making to the chapter already existing in Zephyra, as the image hovers in my mind. The faded text is whats already there and the darker one is what is added.

She thanked fate and chance for her much wanted solitude. But she missed some one. Perhaps she was missing her friend very much. Perhaps if she talked to Vanitha, everything would be alright again. Yes, there is no doubt about it. She stepped in to the coffee shop on her way to her dorm. "Hi", she tried to sound cheerful. 'Hey! Surprise visit?', the cafe keeper raised his eye brows. Zephyra giggled and asked for a chocolate, "No, not the Five Star, she likes Dairy Milk better". "Put it on my tab, Joe", she said and ran. She reached the third door on the second floor and after a moment's hesitation she raised her hand to knock.

***
Vanitha

Zephyra was about to knock, when the door squeaked open a little and Vanitha looked into Zephyra's eyes,"You don't have to knock. My spare keys are with you after all". "You can keep your spare keys.", retorted Zephyra, "They are not what I want to hang around with". The door opened fully, "Come on in", said Vanitha with her eyes cast down, "Please keep the keys with you". If anything has to be said about Vanitha, it should be her obsession with cleanliness. She kept herself tidy with hair parted in two plaits and plenty of talcum on her face. Vanitha preserved the orthodox ways of her mother. Her room was always tidy. If it were not for Zephyra, one would have thought Vanitha was a ghost. There would have been no trace of her having ever lived in the room. But Zephyra was her best friend and she could not bring herself to deny her friend when she wanted to fill Vanitha's walls with graffiti. Zephyra knew Vanitha well enough and so she drew characters from fairy tales on the walls, walking through forests, forests with black lines and curves. "What were you doing?", inquired Zephyra. "Sleeping", Vanitha replied with a shrug. Zephyra looked at the bed all neat and done, with out a wrinkle.

"Sleeping?"
"Yea", Vanitha sat on the edge of the bed, while Zephyra sat on the chair.

"You have not been to the classes for two days"

"Yea.. I am still within twenty percent limit"

"Of course you are. But you have not been out of your room for these two days"

"Of course I have been. Food does not grow in my room and I don't bathe in my room"

"Sure you don't", murmured Zephyra, "Have you been eating well?"

"What are you being so fussy about?"

"I have been eating alone for the last two days and I don't think I like the company of those ...",

Zephyra's voice trailed away.

"I am sorry. I just wanted to be alone"

Zephyra waited for Vanitha to tell her more. She waited and gave up. "Oh so you have been going through old photos? Feeling nostalgic, are we? Missing home?", asked Zephyra flipping through the album on the table.

"Hmm"

After another long wait. Zephyra wanted to slap and shake Vanitha. 'You are making me feel so lonely, you fool', she thought to herself and wished Vanitha would hear her thoughts.

"Hey! This is a nice pic. Its so sketch-able. I can turn it into a nice sketch, girl!"

Vanitha fumbled through her bag and produced a pencil and a sketch pad. Zephyra started sketching the photo. She marked the points to get her proportions right and then she began to make light lines.

"I think I am missing my grandfather now", said Vanitha, almost to herself.

Vanitha's grandfather had died of old age when she and Zephyra were in Chennai on an internship. It was sudden and Vanitha could not make a trip to pay her last visit. She last saw her grandfather two years before. She remembered going with him to temples and to buy grocery and when she parted with him, she never thought that would be the last time she would see him. Had she known, she might have taken a good look at him. She might have even stayed longer. When she heard the death news, she did not know how to react. She could not remember his face. She could not cry. She could not feel the loss. She lived hating herself for being such a cruel, cold-hearted person. She loved her grandfather so much, she stopped being herself after hearing the death news and not feeling anything about it. She renounced everything and kept herself aloof. Zephyra did not know what to do to help and would only look at the idol of Jesus on the crux and wonder what makes humans such wretched creatures. They returned from internship. One night, Zephyra heard hammering sound on the wall between their rooms. And then she heard muffled cries. Zephyra had to use the spare key to open the door, to find Vanitha hitting her head on the wall. That night she cried, like she never did. Zephyra did not understand whether she cried for her grandfather or for not being able to cry when she heard the news. When Vanitha told why, Zephyra cried, too, like she never did. From among those sobs and hiccups, Vanitha told Zephyra in a whisper, "I can not remember his face, Zephyra. I can't remember a bit. I wanted to remember his face before I cried", hitting her head with her palm.

Zepyhra still remembers the night Vanitha was hysterical. It was a cruel sight to see such an innocent child torn down by grief. That was probably the only night, the sheets on Vanitha's bed were dishevelled. There was broken plastic glass on the floor and a dead vase amidst the rubble. There were muffled shrieks in the room. There was blood where the nails ran over her face. Hey eyes were red as if the shortage of tears was forcing blood to be shed. Halfway through the madness, Zephyra embraced her friend, hoping she could absorb a part of the grief. In the very least she could stop Vanitha from hurting herself. But it was too much for Zephyra to take. The wound was too deep for Zephyra to understand. And Vanitha could see no comprehension in Zephyra's eyes. Only pity. And Vanitha could find no mercy, no comfort. She would leave no quarter for Zephyra's solace. She crumbled, weary, leaning against the wall. She buried her head in her knees and howled; so deep and grief-stricken, Zephyra was scared and left her alone. 'May be she needed to cry out. May be then she will find some peace. May be I am just defending my cowardice'. Zephyra stepped into her own room and sat by the wall, listening to Vanitha's cries on the other side. There is small lump bitter lump in her throat. It hurt her larynx, stifled the vocal chords. It seemed like an eternity to Zephyra, before the cries stopped. She waited. She tapped on the wall.

"Vanitha?"

"Anything. Anything for some memories. Please", Vanitha begged.

"Vanitha, are you okay?"

"Do you have to ask? Your eyes tell me, you comprehend. You know the answer. Give me what is mine. Please"

"What are you mumbling, girl?"

The glimmer of Darkness

The little boy sitting in front of Vanitha on his knees, reached for and raised Vanitha's head. He touched the tears flowing across her cheeks. He brought the fingers closer and examined the tear drops with interest. Then he smelled it. "I bet this is going to taste acidic, too", he said staring into a dumb-stricken Vanitha, with a little disgust. "Oh! You might want to listen to her", he remembered and pointed to a dark shadowy figure sitting on the bed. The boy stood up and proceeded to examine the room, the sketches on the wall, the broken shards on the floor and would later sit beside the figure on the bed, dangle his legs and stare at Vanitha with much amusement.

The shadowy figure made a conversation with Vanitha, but no sound emanated from her.

"I can't remember him", confided Vanitha in a whisper

"You love him so very much. But what you ask for comes at a price"

"Anything. Anything for some memories. Please", Vanitha begged.

"Even your life?"

"Do you have to ask? Your eyes tell me, you comprehend. You know the answer. Give me what is mine. Please"

"So do you, child. Not many judge me like you do. The darkness has the strength and the mercy to let the light glow. You shall have what is yours and in return I shall take what is mine"

Vanitha (Contd....)

'Oh boy! She has gone delirious', thought Zephyra and sprang to her feet. She ran to the door. "Open the door, Vanitha". Impatience is irresistible. Without waiting, Zephyra used the duplicate keys and opened the door, to find Vanitha standing, with her palms joined across her bosom and a smile on her lips, staring into the air. The sketch on the wall, thought Zephyra. Vanitha turned to Zephyra and said softly,"I can remember now. His eyebrows. His...". Vanitha now payed full attention to the wall ahead. "I can remember now. Yes. I can. Thank you. Thank you", she broke into soft tears, "Thank you. Thank you, Oh Angel of the Dark. Thank you" Zephyra, walked swiftly towards Vanitha and shook her, touched her forehead with the back of her palm, "You are running cold".

"I am alright", replied Vanitha and hugged her and sobbed softly.

Vanitha overcame her grief eventually. Things returned to normal. As normal as it can get, after losing someone very dear. Time, Zephyra believed, is a great healer. And Time, she also knew, causes new wounds. And so it was a matter of time, before Vanitha was overcome with another shadow. Only this time, Zephyra did not know whats ailing her friend. And she hated not knowing it. She felt a wave a relief when Vanitha admitted that she was missing her grandfather. She thought Vanitha is going to confess, but the confession never came. When Zephyra looked up from her sketching, Vanitha was trying to draw, too. Vanitha was never good with pencil and drawing and anything artsy. Vanitha drew up a stick and ball figure of a girl with flowing hair holding hands with another girl with two plaits. Vanitha looked up and beamed. Zephyra smiled and said, "You might want to give labels for others to identify". "Or, you could be the only one of those others to see this and you already know who is who", retorted Vanitha. Zephyra stared at Vanitha for a while, heard some one within her say,'She is just fine', smiled, held Vanitha's hand, twisted it to look at the watch and said,"Dinner?". "Sure", came the reply. 'A good meal after two days', Zephyra said to herself.

They groaned when they reached the cafeteria. They managed to gulp down some food and quickly went out to the coffee shop.

"Two coffee before we throw up", said Zephyra hastily.

"Another bad meal?", asked Joe.

"The worst"

"Hmm..", Joe handed out two cups of coffee,"A story?"

"Oh! sorry. Not today Joe. Taking a walk with Vanitha"

"Ok. Tomorrow then"

"Sure. Oh, add the chocolate to the bill"

Zephyra and Vanitha walked the streets, lit with yellow neon lamps, talking. Zephyra complained about Jessica. She talked about how she was scared about being caught dozing in the nonlinear dynamics class. She talked about how someone nicked the attendance sheet away and the professor threatened to punish the whole class. They walked back to their rooms, still talking.

"So you are gonna come for classes tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I am"

Zephyra thought she saw a tinge of grief, a lurking shadow.

"Sure? You want me to wake you tomorrow?"

"What? I wake up earlier than you", Vanitha tried to smile.

"Ok. Goodnight then"

"Goodnight"

Vanitha did not show up the next day either.

And thanks D. For the video of beautiful grandpa. I remember his eyebrows.
I know I am being senti..!

Jade

Awakening

(P.S : This is the short story from which evolved the short novel/long story titled Zephyra. Just felt like putting it here, now. P.S., btw, here stands for pre-script)

'... modified light-matter interaction between excitons and photons in ...'
'... for the first time that excitons can be controlled with an electric field ...'
She opened another book at a random page and finding the word exciton slammed it close. 'Its funny', she thought walking out of the library, ‘I never came across the word exciton until yesterday and now its everywhere I look!'
Zephyra is an undergraduate student studying physics. A hostel mate was talking to her about courses on quantum mechanics at lunch. After a long discussion on the number and kind of courses available on quantum mechanics and a short discussion on some of the things that Zephyra had learnt which she thought might interest a layman, the hostel mate had decided that Zephyra was a master in quantum mechanics. So she asked what an exciton is. Zephyra did not know and admitted it straight and sharp, despite how awkward she felt under the look the hostel mate was throwing at her. She never thought about it later. She never thought about things she did not need. She never carried much about her. Her luggage was just a backpack when she visited her parents during vacation. She did not carry a cell phone. She did not carry a iPod. She did not have those plugs in her ears – recent trend in fashion. She wore long light gowns and she looked very graceful and serene in them with her long auburn hair. The only thing she always carries, she carries it in her mind – lores on magic and legendary other worldly characters. She had washed her lunch down with a coffee and the question on exciton with a folklore the cafe-keeper was narrating. But today as she was looking for books on crystals and optics, she comes across the word in many books.
Zephyra is a curious child and never leaves unexplored anything she can lay her hands on. She is usually very scientific and modern in her thinking and outlook and is open to any view on subjects she did not study much. But today she would not explore and know what an exciton actually is. She was satisfied with what little logical explanation her intuitive brain had offered on the subject. 'It must be a state of a particle and an antiparticle which can emit light when the exciton collapses... must be something like that.. why do I care..' were her thoughts as she coldly walked out of the library. Logic came easy to her. Especially so, today, as her brain tried to give a hundred logics to explain that something preying on her mind.
Presently, she is inside a classroom attending a lecture on Nonlinear Dynamics. It is a large classroom admitting about fifty and a hundred pupils. The spanish professor is an old man with every bit of him a contradiction to every other bit: black hair and wrinkled skin, blue pupils and brown eye brows. He would appear complacent and rather lazy on the corridors and even in his office which makes it all the more surprising to attend his lectures delivered with such vigour and energy. Everybody attends his lectures, if not for anything else, to witness the dramatic change from sobriety to eagerness with which he reaches for his students; his eyes bulging large and bright, eye brows flying high above their boundaries, hands and fingers jutting out in random gestures. But none of this held any attraction to Zephyra today. Science no longer held its sway for Zephyra. Perhaps, it will never anymore. 'Having studied logistic map in detail, bifurcation and ljapunov exponent, we will now close this course with two lectures on physical manifestation of all the theory we have learnt, a phenomenon called SYNCHronisation. We will first do away with maths...', proceeded the professor, walking towards the green board. Zephyra paid no attention and was deep in thoughts about herself.
Zephyra was a Brazilian by descent, but was born and raised in India. Her mother told her stories of her grandfather living in the forests, of imaginary superheroes, of the Amazon woman. Zephyra was enchanted by all those stories. She would not sleep even at this age, with out her mamma telling her a story. She would go to sleep imagining all those stories. She fancied she had superpowers too. She thought she would one day show the abilities of feline creatures. She would imagine at school, at lunch watching her palms. She would imagine that any moment then, a claw would show itself and she would retract it before her friends see. She would imagine this everyday. Despite the daily reality, she was never disappointed. She would dream of lions, tigers and cats. She would dream of being the queen at whose feet lay those lazy feline furballs, pretending to be asleep but ready to jump to action at her command. She would dream of small adventures. She would get hurt now and then and she would lick her wounds. She would dream of becoming one with nature. Everything was as she pleased until yesterday. Yesterday, she was pushed off a cliff. She was facing the earth during her fall, feeling the winds' slippery clutches on her slim body. She was frantically looking for something to stop her fall, but there was nothing within her reach and only the earth waited 70 feet below from where she was pushed off. She did not notice who pushed her. May be it was the wind. May be it was in her head. But she no longer cared about that. She was falling. She began to imagine how her own weight, despite being way too low for her age, would crush her on impact. She could no longer imagine the strength of feline limbs supporting a fall. Fear tore at her heart while the wind ripped through her throat, across her eyes bringing tears and across her ears howling and screaming like wolves and owls on a haunted night. She wanted to look at the green wilderness surrounding her for one last time, but her head was in the clutches of her emotions, fixing the vision to the approaching terrain, calculating the impulse of the impact, wondering if her fragile bones can withstand it. 'Fragile? Feline bones ain't fragile. Oh! But what am I thinking, even in this damned hour?', her thoughts raced. But she has got no time to think about anything now. She is only a moment away ...
... from scaring herself to wake. She woke up to find herself drenched in sweat and tears. Feeling the tears on her cheeks with her fingers (her fingers were long, longer than an average woman of her age) she doubted if it was real. But her logical brain was already giving an intuitive explanation: 'must have been crying out of fear'. The dream indeed felt so real to her. She remembered the rough terrain, every stone and pebble and a worm. She remembered the heavy gravity with which she was pulled down. But she missed. She missed and woke from her sleep. She got off the bed and walked to the dressing table. She was very thirsty after the wind dried up her throat. She picked up the glass and raised her head to drink. The feeling of that vague safety turned to true horror as she stared at her image in the mirror. The glass slipped and shattered, making the noise of hands clapping!
Her attention is brought back to the classroom by the sound of the claps. She flushed thinking the professor had caught her daydreaming and has asked the class to wake her up by clapping. She was going to stand up to apologise, but the professor raised his hand signalling to stop the clapping and spoke, 'Did anybody notice anything?' A confusion of confessions from the whole class was accepted as “Yes”. 'Yes. That’s right. It started off randomly. But after a while, you heard everyone clapping in sync. Now, see this', he said, showing a video of fireflies near a river bank, 'it’s a video I had taken on my visit to Japan. The video is being played faster than the real time to mark the drama.' Zephyra watched a single flash here and there slowly begin to synchronise and a few moments later, it appeared as if all the fireflies were flashing together in a state of artificial trance. The professor spoke again, 'I am sure not all of you have heard of synchronisation before this course. I am sure most of you have never seen it happening. But now that you know what it is, I tell you, you will find it everywhere you look.' Zephyra raised her eye brow muttering to herself, 'déjà vu?' The end of the hour bell rang and the class began to disperse noisily. That noise only fell on Zephyra's deaf ears, for even now she can only hear the howl and scream of the air in her flight. Zephyra dragged herself out of the class, bumped into a few willing people, excused herself inadvertently and walked out of the common corridor towards the college entrance arch. The evening is hot. The air near the arch pillars is shimmering. 'mirage', she thought to herself. The bright saffron sun is making its way to bed steadily. She can see people leaving college in groups – twos and fives mostly. The singles are running. She felt tired. She is grateful her jealous mates are not here today to bully her. She thanked fate and chance for her much wanted solitude. Little did she know, it was not any fate or chance. Even so, she could not help thinking. Doubt, fear, hope lingered in and out of her reach as she thought of dreams and ‘déjà vu’s she had in the last few hours.
Zephyra always fancied being a superhuman. She would look at birds and animals and imagine and believe she had the power to talk to them. Little did she know that she was indeed destined with a extra ordinary power. But it is nothing like she imagined. She never would have imagined it, if she had not seen herself in the mirror this morning. She wondered, now that she knew, if she would find people like her. She has many questions. She wants answers. She remembered the professors words, '..now that you know what it is, I tell you, you will find it everywhere you look.' She wondered if ...
'Hello Zephyra!'
Zephyra stopped and looked at the stranger boy from whom the abrupt greeting cheerfully ensued. He is tall and handsome and there is something else about him that she could not put her finger on. He is standing where the pillar is, and it looked as if he was some kind of gel, letting the flesh ooze around the stones on the ground and the metal grated cylinder of the pillar.
'I know you have had enough surprises for a day and I promise this would be the last for the day'
She realised now that it was everything about him she could not put her finger on.
'Who are you? And how are you doing this..'
'Let’s just say it’s what I am. The philosophy being that there is no difference between different matter. I can manifest myself through any material. It’s my power. I have my powers just like you do yours.'
Zephyra's heart skipped a beat and just as hastily as that happened, she said, 'How do you know?'
'Oh! Everybody knows what Zephyra means! Don’t you? Though I don’t know what you mean, Zephyra’, he said casually winking.
Zephyra stood with her hands crossed, brows furrowed.
‘Ok! Well, I will be short and straight, though you can see I am tall and not so straight'; he waited for some reaction, but finding only fury, instantly turned contrastingly sober. 'The awakening signals everybody of our kind. We have been waiting for you, Zephyra. Aeon awaits you.'
'Who is Aeon?'
'You will know, in time. For now, I am to deliver this message to you. There are people like you. So have no fear. Have this', he said.
She looked at the brandished sword. 'must be made of iron', she thought receiving the heavy sword. She then spoke her thoughts out loud, 'I don't know how to use ... but why would I need this?'
'Don’t worry about your incapabilities. Raven! She will come to you and you need to stay away from her. Use the sword to protect yourself', the words were tumbling, 'Go home now and rest and don’t try and force anything', he said, beginning to shimmer.
'Wait. I have questions. I don’t even know your name..', she wailed as he disappeared. Honestly she did not know if she was glad to find another of her kind and to know that there are many more or to be disappointed at being ignored or fear the prospect of having to use a heavy iron sword against an unknown enemy. Both the adjectives made her shudder. She is allergic to iron and heavy objects. If the worst is to come, she does not even know how to use her super power. She did not have control over it yet. She has a vague idea how it manifested this morning, though she did not know why. She began to rehearse. She was falling off a cliff. She must have imagined it to be real, for it was indeed so realistic. She must have fancied using superhuman powers. She had always imagined being some sort of a cat woman. She could have imagined having healing powers. But she was falling. She was frantically looking for something to stop her fall, but there was nothing within her reach and only the earth is going to stop her fall. She could no longer imagine the strength of feline limbs supporting a fall. Fear tore at her heart while the wind ripped through her throat, across her eyes bringing tears and across her ears howling and screaming like wolves and owls on a haunted night. She wanted to look at the green wild surrounding her for one last time, but her head was clutched in her emotions, fixing the vision to the approaching terrain, calculating the impulse of the impact, wondering if her fragile bones can withstand it. Fragile? What was she thinking? But she did not have time to think about anything then. She was only a moment away from crushing herself into the relentless ground beneath. She touched the ground. Stones and pebbles almost struck her face. But she felt no pain. She woke up and walked up to the dressing table to quench her dry throat.
In a small span of attention she realised she had walked to lake side road. This road is usually deserted and it is no different now. Not a soul in sight. Looking down on the road ahead, a strong urge filled her. She dropped her bag off her shoulder. It hit the ground with a clang of the iron sword. Drenched in desire, she started sprinting. Memories returned. Logic and intuition concurred with the same conclusion. Realisation dawned on her, a black blurry mass flew beside her and as if in pursuit, she took off, unfurling her wings!
Anxiety became awe as she stared at her reflection. The glass slipped, shattered and so did the many feathers from her back, the fallen fragments of feathers and ligaments crumbling to vanishing dust!

--
Jade & Raven

Zephyra

Zephyra! Oh my Zephyra!

Can't tell you what it took to reach here.
It was a tiny two page story based on a fancy I had two years back and now it blew up into huge story. Never wrote a story this big till date. And I am afraid I might have dragged a little too much and made the story boring. But, honestly, most of it is patched up from bouts of spontaneity. I have put the entire story in one page.

http://shortnovelzephyra.blogspot.com/

In the end the only chapter I liked in the novel is the chapter titled Vanitha. But please be generous with your comments, suggestions and complaints. It probably needs more editing, especially because I have totally screwed up the tenses. But I am tired now. Some other time, perhaps.

nja,
Jade

some announcements

I decided to put whole stories and poems and other whole works here and move my other muses and the rest of the material to another blog, the link to which you will find under My Journal in the side.

And I am also planning to add another blog where in I plan to re-tell stories: mostly mythologies and legends. Its more of an attempt to gather those stories than to express my talents in re-telling.

Of course all this will take some time... meanwhile I put a story that I wrote long time back and edited now. I wonder (painfully) if editing made it better or worse!

nja!
Jade

Quote n Quote

Well.. we (me and Raven) have a special entry today. This is not an extract from a story. Its an extract from lyrics for Ani DiFranco's Grey.. the song that I, sort of, identify myself with.

.....
I smoke and I drink and
Every time I blink
I have a tiny dream.
But as bad as I am
I'm proud of the fact
That I'm worse than I seem.
What kind of paradise am I looking for?
I've got everything I want and still I want more.
Maybe some tiny shiny key will wash up on the shore.
....

Its that tiny shiny key that might wash up on the shore... What kind of paradise am I looking for?

--
Jade.

Quote n Quote: 3

Romance at short notice was her speciality

This is from... you know what... I am not gonna tell you. If you did not know which story this is from... I will never forgive you. (You were spared because I don't swear in my blog!)

--
Jade.

P.S. I am having dreams again. No. Not nightmares. Just dreams. But dreams are tiresome. I wake up tired when I dream. :(

P.P.S The line, by the way, is from... O! just figure it out yourself!

Quote n Quote: 2

Above the door hangs the sign board, upon which has been depicted a vast animal of unfamiliar species. In the act of firing upon this monster is represented an unobtrusive human levelling an obtrusive gun, once the colour of bright gold. Now the legend above the picture is faded beyond conjecture; the gun's relation to the title is a matter of faith; the menaced animal, wearied of the long aim of the hunter, has resolved itself into a shapeless blot.

From 'Blind Man's Holiday' by O' Henry.

--
Raven.

Quote n Quote: 1

I decided to record the lines I liked very much from the short stories I have been reading. They will keep coming as and when I encounter 'em. Don't mind them, but if you like 'em too, leave a comment suggesting more such stories.

Heres the first one:

The wondering look deepened in Cyprian's eyes as he followed his aunt; he belonged to a generation that is supposed to be over-fond of the role of mere spectator, but looking at napkins that one did not mean to buy was a pleasure beyond his comprehension.

From 'The Dreamer' by Saki

--
Raven.

My Good Morning

When I was still at school I had come across a saying from papers, probably from some ad: "Little gestures make much difference". Indeed, they do.

I will assume, without probing into the statistics, that you have read stories the likes of stories by O' Henry. If you have not, read 'em sometime. I will also assume, again without your consent, that you have watched movies, particularly those from Hollywood; the movies that belong to 'Romance' genre. Now the word romance tempts me to diverge from the story I want to write and instead write about the origins and philosophy of the word "romance", 'cause it is oft' misunderstood. But I shall hold my reins more firmly this time.

I am talking about stories and movies where two strangers meet in a cheap restaurant or on the bar table.
"howz the movie?"
"beg yo parduh?"
"the movie. Did you like it?"
"How... did you know?..", picking up her bag, ready to leave.
"Its alright. You are fiddling with the ticket."
She glances into her hand, sees the ticket, looks up and gives an awkward smile.
"Sorry! I thought you were stalking me or something"
"Coffee?"
"Yea. Sure. Irish"
He calls for the waiter.
"Did you want anything more, sir?"
"Oh. No. But can you get an Irish Coffee for this lady here, please?"
"Of course, sir"
The waiter walks away. They look at each other and smile.
"The movie was good. Better than my expectations"
"Is not it? I liked the truck toppling scene, the best"
"Now how did you know which movie I was watching?"
"There is only one playing now, that can be better than your expectations"
She smiles. Pleasantly this time.
"You a detective or somethin' ?"
"Ha! I wish. I am just a jobless physics professor"
She laughs. Her drink and his food arrive. They talk a little more about the movie.When its about time they part,
"Rachael", she shakes his hand, "I live a couple of blocks from here"
The professor nods his head, "Ethan. I live on a website. The xyz univ ". They laugh and part.

I am not a critique or a stereo-typist or a psychologist or anything, but a typical chance meeting in old classy short stories, when poorly imitated would be something like this:
An orange summer evening it is and M. Alphonse was seated in the orange tainted bench. M. Alphonse took a walk, at 6:45pm precisely, everyday. Even on the day the clock in the Clock Tower stopped ticking, M. Alphonse did not miss his beat. He now sat in his bench under the shade of the large trees with their orange tanned leaves. The river on the banks of which the park rose, is the only contrasting patch of blue among the brown of tree barks and the orange of dried leaves strewn all over. He watched kids playing ball. Some kids were running behind the dogs. Some kids were being chased by their nurses. He watched all that he watches every other day. What he failed to notice, though, was the woman walking down to the same bench he was seated on. If it were not for the perfume she was wearing he would never have felt her presence. But the perfume had already done its part. Curiosity took its birth. He looked to his side and glanced at the fair lady in a bonnet and a pink generous skirt.
"n'est-ce pas une bonne soirée", the girl said, staring at the children playing.
"en fait, il est", Alphonse agreed.

Since the rest of the conversation continued in French, I won't take the trouble of narrating a story trying to make it look like Porter's. I will just state that they talked a while and in parting each wished good night to the other.

So what if you have seen such movies or read such tales, you ask? Well, if you have, did you ever wonder why such a thing almost never happens in your real life. Strangers no longer meet in restaurants and parks. They never meet. Now one might argue that they do occasionally meet in Orkut and Facebook and other such virtual parks. But I am still a creature of the ancient age and the world wide web, despite my own share of marvel, utility and interest in it, is not one where I would like to meet my date.

I must be a queer one to say "Man is a social animal". Well, at least you will find many essays and articles which assert that man is a social animal. But today, I would consider that as a blasphemy. For two reasons; for one, man is not an animal, not any longer and secondly, man is not social. Well, thats my opinion anyway. You may argue otherwise, protesting that you party with your friends every week end, go to the cinema with your gang, eat out with your colleagues. Then let me ask you, how many strangers have you greeted in a mall or a park or a club or a restaurant? You don't greet. You don't expect to be greeted. You don't want to be greeted. If by some miscalculated chance, some body does greet you, you look at him suspiciously, throw him such icy piercing looks, he will draw a wall around himself. There ends his society. There dies another social animal.

I, however, did not entirely miss a few romantic encounters. The first of them took place in my city of dreams. Bombay? Oh no. No no. Madras. That was the city where dream like events took place in my life. I was asked once, on the occasion of finishing five years in Bombay, which coincided with my graduation, what my most memorable event in Bombay was. I sat trying to think about it the rest of my lunch. But all I could think about was my internship in IMSc, Chennai. It was there, one fine sunny morning, that I had my first surprise of my life. I was sitting in the cafeteria, digging into my breakfast and reading the newspaper. Washing down my breakfast with coffee, I looked up to see two Christian ladies walking into the cafeteria. One walked behind the other, their steps brisk. Just as I was about to return to my newspaper, the lady in the front gave a nod and mouthed "Good morning"! I was surprised. Almost stunned and paralysed. But my instinct took over. I nodded in return and wished her good morning. My eyes then moved over to the lady walking behind. She nodded in time and smiled, "Good morning". I returned her smile and said, "Good morning". They had a word with the cook and then nodding again to me, made their way out of the cafeteria, leaving me in doubt. I doubted my convictions about human nature the first time then. A moment later I relapsed, shook myself off of the doubts. Those two were not humans, I told myself. But the truth, I think, is that it left a strong permanent mark on me.

It was also during this time in the same city of Madras that I made my acquaintances with a certain tall, heavy, black PhD student, with his hair in a pony-tail. It is an acquaintance that I cherish and always remind myself of when in despair. He made me realise the true strength of a human. Yes, I am talking about a human. If there is anything that the humans can own that is worth some pride (or shame to some), it is his/her immeasurable capacity to endure. It was also thanks to his acquaintance that I met the girl with big black eyes who is good at math.

So that was the first of the few romantic encounters. The last of them happened today.

I woke up lazy. Flipped through the newspapers. I thanked my angels, for it was not raining this morning, though it was not very dry either. I walked the familiar road to my office. Almost there, I got a message from my elder cousin:
"What's the actual meaning of Morning?
Morning = 'one more inning' given by 'God' to play!
Don't let him down. Make Best of it!
Good Morning!"
It was a little overwhelming, but it was pleasant; I replied, "Good morning to you too" and resumed walking.

A little ahead, some one jogging in the street called out to somebody else, "GOOD MORNING". I remembered the Chennai incident. I smiled. I nodded and whispered morning to myself. Then I turned around the corner to see a great dane walking towards me beside its master. As we got closer, it walked more towards me a little and nodded its head. I replied him with a nod. But I was pleasantly surprised to see a tiny pomerenian, walking proudly behind the great dane, also come closer to me, look me in the eye, lick its nose and nod its head twice.
'Yes. Morning to you too', I said gently.

Human or otherwise, it has been quite a long time since I received a greeting from a stranger.

Well, thus endeth my latest romantic encounter and my very very Good Morning.

Jade

the world is a strange theatre

What do you think of an Indian living in Bombay for five years and still can not speak or understand Marathi and only half understand Hindi? Yes, Ma'm ? A half-arsed idiot? Uh uh! Who is it, you ask? Oh! But that would be me, Ma'm. That half whatever idiot. Where do I come from? Well, thats difficult to answer, too! Born, and only born, in Kerala and brought up in Andhra Pradesh. So I know Tamil, you say? But you are mistaken Ma'm, the language is Malayalam in Kerala. And the Malayalis would laugh at me if I spoke in Malayalam. I sent my grandma in Kerala some money today through money order and I could not write any message for her.

'But since you were schooled in Andhra Pradesh, surely you should know Teilgu?'

I should? Yes, Ma'm. I do. I know Telugu. I can speak, understand, read and write perfectly in Telugu. But that is no comfort to me. I no longer live in that forsaken desert. Forsaken by me, that is.

"Pagaar"
"uh?"
"PagAAR"
"Hindi mein boliye"
"Kya?"
"Ek minute"
I realised, shamefully, that she was indeed speaking in Hindi and that I did not know what she was talking about. There is nothing I can do now to save my face, for the shame has already flushed my face red. So I called my colleague to sort the matter out. And from their conversation I heard one distinct statement: "Woh Hindi nahi jaantha hain?". My colleague tried to be nice, "Woh sirf paggar nahi jaantha hain". I added one more word to the list of words I did not know.

As I mentioned briefly earlier, I had been to the post office today to send out a money order. I had to buy the money order form.
"Money order...?" Why do my statements always trail away in uncertainty when it comes to speaking to others in local languages?
"Form chahiye?"
"Haan! haan!" I said happily. I know the Hindi word for Yes perfectly well. But deep down I knew, I was only trying to hide the fact that I did not know a form had to be filled in. That was the first time I was sending a M.O
"Chaara..", the lady at the counter said
I gave her a ten rupee note.
"Change nahi hain?"
"Nahi", I was sorry. I looked into my purse. I only had a rupee coin.
She gave me the form and lots of coins! What the hell! Did she give the six rupees in fifty paises? I counted nine rupees and seventy five paise and realised it was only "Chaarana" and not "chaar" !
After sending the money order, I went back and confessed that I did not understand her properly and that I now have change worth a ten rupee note. She smiled. But I am sure she laughed within.

I stepped out into the gloomy day with its irritating drizzle. Am I growing old so soon? Are my cells dying so fast? Not being able to learn new languages and not being able to hear properly, surely these are signs of getting old. And I lost a word game yesterday. And did not do quite well in another.

I came back to my office and sat to think. Instead of thinking of ways of learning the language, I quickly came to a decision. 'May be I should play deaf and dumb'.

"Pagaar"
"mm?" Showing a question mark with my hand
"PagAAR"
"mm?" Showing the question and frowning with my eye brows furrowed.
"SUNAI nahi detha KYA?", pointing to her ears
Calmly, I show my ears and mouth and cross my hands. Then I show her my palm asking her to wait. My colleague takes over. And then probably I would have heard, "Bechara! Usko zara sorry boldijiye. Patha nahi tha"

Its not just the language. The world is a strange theatre to me and every scene, I am forced to think I should have played deaf and dumb. I graduated from a Tech School from Physics Department. It is probably because of the Physics department that I failed to learn Hindi. After all the reasoning that is being fed into me, how do you expect me to decide that objects like sun, book, flower, hair, water, paper, phone, police, bag, food, time, hotel,... every damn thing on earth is either male or female! But its not just Hindi...

"Which department?"
"Physics"
"What is an exciton?"
"WHAT?"
"Abe! quantum mechanics padtha nahi hain kya?"
"WHAT?"
"Abe! Hindi nahi aathi hain kya?"

They expect me to know Quantum Mechanics and Cosmology because I graduated from Physics Department. While my interest and much of my courses were related to light and optics. So do I know Optics very well? Not the least of it. Optics is a very vast subject. After spending two "FULL" years in optics, I learnt that what I know is just 1E-39 of the whole. That would roughly be the fraction of 1cm to the size of the universe today... I mean these days.

And then, I sketch as a hobby.
"You can sketch?"
"NO"

I write as a hobby
"You are a writer!"
"Now, WHO told you that?"

I watch a lot of Japanese animes (animated series) and can speak some pleasantries in Japanese. But I do not know Japanese. I have mixed what I know of Telugu and Malayalam and was able to survive in Tamil Nadu (Telugu and Malayalam are supposedly local dialects of the original Tamizh). But I do not know Tamil.

Now, when I am in high spirits, I just look at things the other way around. I do not know Tamil, but I could survive in Tamil Nadu. I do not know Visual Basic, but I am coding in Visual Basic. I did not know HTML, but I wrote my resume in HTML. I could do couple of other things. Little tricks to keep living!

But I am not alone in this. There is another guy from Andhra Pradesh where I live and he was talking to a tall guy from Nagpur. I was lying on my bed reading, as usual. They were talking about seasons, flowers, bees and fruits.
"Kya season main aatha hyin", said the Telugu guy, with his heavy telgish accent.
"Summer", said the tall guy coolly
"Mangoes ka season main?"
"After mangoes"
"Kya variety miltha hain?"
"variety?"
"haan.. mathlab.. santra ya orange?"

....silence....
I could no longer hold my laughter. I turned to look at the tall guy. He sat shocked, with his mouth open. And then I let out a laugh. It lasted five long minutes and my insides were aching from all the twitching and rolling. The Telugu guy probably meant to ask whether it was sweet lime or orange.

Look it this way or that, alone or not, I do not know what role I play. What purpose. What divine reason. The important questions that have plagued the philosophers and the common men alike, in good times and bad ones, alike. There was a time, when these questions drove me crazy. The obsession to find the answers ended in a rather unexpected way. It might be hilarious to some one stranger like you. But it came to me like a much awaited rain washing away the filth. I now don't mind playing the fool nor the deaf and dumb. I don't mind playing anything or nothing, as long as I have books with stories. The fact that I myself am playing a role on a stage became less daunting and intimidating, when I began to set stages and see the puppets unravel the story. I left those important questions unanswered. I remember. I remember well. I remember how it felt to get drenched in the rain, smelling the wet earth and dropping the questions to be washed away by the flood. I was reading "To Kill A Mockingbird" then. In Chennai. During my internship in IMSc. The summer I met a girl with big black eyes who was very good at Math. I remember the feeling. I knew I was stepping down the props of humanity, to become just a doll.. a puppet... to not be amused, but to amuse.

Reason, you ask, Ma'm?
Haha... One day might come, Ma'm, when you will see this mighty stage. It is so unreasonable, there is no place for reason. Desire and Will. They are the only things keeping it ticking. My desire for stories. And Her willingness to narrate.

Did you say you want to try, Ma'm?
Come. Step up. Choose your mask. Pick your colours. Oh those ribbons would suit you so good. Yes, yes! They are all yours. You can put on any frock you desire. Do not be reasonable. Now then, are you ready? Know that the crowd might scare you. You can shiver and tremble. You can stammer. Thats alright. Just remember, don't be amused. You are here to amuse.

End of article!
:P
I don't know what happened and how it turned out to be like this. This looks like a dream. A dream churning reality with imagination. I think I need some caffeine.

Jade.

The Face On The Wall by E V Lucas

I was looking for this story. I first read this story when I was at school, perhaps in 8th std. I don't remember what feelings I had for it then, but surely now, I love this story. And since I found it on the internet with very great difficulty, I thought I should post it here so I can read it whenever I want. If it violates any copyright regulations let me know.

We were talking of events which cannot be explained by natural causes at Dabney’s last evening. Most of us had given an instance without producing much effect. Among the strangers to me was a little man with an anxious face. He watched each speaker with the closest attention, but said nothing. Then Dabney wishing to include him in the talk, turned to him and asked if he had no experience he could narrate - no story that could not be explained. He thought a moment. “Well,” he said, “not a story in the ordinary sense of the word; nothing like most of your examples. Truth, I always believe, is not only stranger than a made up story, but also greatly more interesting. I could tell you an occurrence which happened to me personally and which strangely enough completed itself only this afternoon.”

We begged him to begin.

“A year or two ago,” he said, “I was in rooms in an old house in Great Ormond Street. The bedroom walls had been painted by the previous tenant, but the place was damp and there were great patches on the walls. One of these - as indeed often happens - exactly like a face. Lying on a bed in the morning and delaying getting up I came to think of it as real as my fellow lodger. In fact, the strange thing was that while the patches on the wall grew larger and changed their shapes, this never did. It remained just the same.

“While there I fell ill with influenza, and all day long I had nothing to do but read or think, and it was then that the face began to get a firmer hold of me. It grew more and more real and remarkable. I may say that it filled my thoughts day and night. There was a curious curve of the nose and the forehead was remarkable, in fact the face of an uncommon man, a man in a thousand.”

“Well, I got better, but the face still controlled me, found myself searching the streets for one like it. Somewhere, I was convinced, the real man must exist, and him I must meet. Why, I had no idea; I only knew that he and I were in some way linked by fate. I often went to places where people gather in large numbers - political meetings, football matches, railway stations. But all in vain. I had never before realized as I then did how many different faces of man there are and how few. For all faces differ, and yet they can be grouped into few types.”

“The search became a madness with me. I neglected everything else. I stood at busy corners watching the crowd until people thought me mad, and the police began to know me and be suspicious. I never looked at women; men, men, men, all the time.”

He passed his hand over his brow as if he was very tired. “And then,” he continued. “I at last saw him. He was in a taxi driving east along Piccadilly. I turned and ran beside it for a little way and then saw an empty one coming. ‘Follow that taxi,’ I said and leaped in. The driver managed to keep it in sight and it took us to Charing Cross. I rushed on to the platform and found my man with two ladies and a little girl. They were going to France. I stayed there trying to get a word with him, but in vain. Other friends had joined the party and they moved to the train in one group.”

I hastily purchased a ticket to Folkstone, hoping that I should catch him on the boat before it sailed; but at Folkstone he got on the ship before me with his friends, and they disappeared into a large private cabin. Evidently he was a rich man.”

“Again I was defeated; but I determined to go with him, feeling certain that when the voyage had begun he would leave the ladies and come out for a walk on the deck. I had only just enough for a single fare to Boulogne but nothing could stop me now. I took up my position opposite his cabin door and waited. After half an hour the door opened and he came out, but with the little girl. My heart beat fast. There was no mistaking the face, every line was the same. He looked at me and moved towards the way to the upper deck. It was now or never, I felt.”

“Excuse me,” I stammered, “but do you mind giving me your card? I have a very important reason in asking it.”

“He seemed to be greatly surprised, as indeed well he might; but he granted my request. Slowly he took out his case and handed me his card and hurried on with the little girl. It was clear that he thought me mad and thought it wiser to please me than not.”

“Holding the card tight in my hand I hurried to a lonely corner of the ship and read it. My eyes grew dim; my head reeled; for on it were the words; Mr. Ormond Wall, with an address at Pittsburgh, U.S.A. I remember no more until I found myself in a hospital at Boulogne. There I lay in a broken condition for some weeks, and only a month ago did I return.”

He was silent.

We looked at him and at one another and waited. All the other talk of the evening was nothing compared with the story of the little pale man.

“I went back,” he started once again after a moment or so, “to Great Ormond Street and set to work to find out all I could about this American. I wrote to Pittsburgh; I wrote to American editors; I made friends with Americans in London: but all that I could find out was that he was a millionaire with English parents who had resided in London. But where? To that question I received no answer.”

“And so the time went on until yesterday morning, I had gone to bed more than usually tired and slept till late. When I woke, the room was bright with sunlight. As I always do, I looked at once at the wall on which the face is to be seen. I rubbed my eyes and sprang up. It was only faintly visible. Last night it had been clear as ever - almost I could hear it speak. And now it was a ghost of itself.”

“I got up confused and sad and went out. The early editions of the papers were already out. I saw the headline, ‘American Millionaire’s Motor Accident.’ You all must have seen it. I bought it and read. Mr. Ormond Wall, the Pittsburgh millionaire, and party, motoring in Italy, were hit by a wagon and the car overturned. Mr. Wall’s condition was critical.”

“I went back to my room and sat on the bed looking with unseeing eyes at the face on the wall. And even as I looked, suddenly it completely disappeared.”

“Later I found that Mr. Wall died of his injuries at what I take it to be that very moment.”

Again he was silent.

“Most remarkable,” we said, “most extraordinary,” and so forth, and we meant it too.

“Yes,” said the stranger. “There are three extraordinary, three most remarkable things about my story. One is that it should be possible for a patch on the wall of a house in London not only to form the features of a gentleman in America but also to have a close association with his life. Science will not be able to explain that yet. Another one is that the gentleman’s name should bear any relation to the spot on which his features were being so curiously reproduced by some unknown agency. Is it not so?”

We agreed with him, and our original discussion on supernatural occurrences set in again with increased excitement, during which the narrator of the amazing experience rose up and said good-night. Just as he was at the door, one of the company recalled us to the cause of our excited debate by asking him, before he left what he considered the third most exciting thing in connection with his deeply interesting story. “You said three thing, you know?” said he.

“Oh, the third thing,” he said, as he opened the door, “I was forgetting that. The third extraordinary thing about the story is that I made it up about half an hour ago. Good-night again.”

E V Lucas

some recent pencil work

from the valley of lost memories

This is a continuation from the article below. So may be you should read that first, the one named 'the contract in blood'.

The revelation came down upon me like waves of the sea coming down on the shore.

I was on my way to the other world. They call it heaven. They call it hell. They call it netherworld. So many names. Worlds and Gods unseen have many names, to suit our ever-so-crumbling, frail faith. I must have been void of emotions, since I don't remember being either happy or sad to go the other world. I have no memory of what it felt like and what the surroundings looked like. No memory of how long I have been in that state. No memory of what moment, that something snapped. Something struck a chord in me. A chord the existence of which I was not even aware of. I saw. I saw a light. Oh no. It was not Him! Not the God nor His Son. A firefly. Suddenly, there was desire swelling in me. It grew as a candle that comes to life when lit. But it grew from inside the darkness. Almost as if, the darkness has been caring for it, nursing and nurturing it. No there is no doubt about it. And as desire coursed through every inch of my numb nerves, I remembered. I remembered I have to follow the firefly. My muscles twitched and before I knew, I was moving. I had a will. But I had no control over it. The will had a life of its own. I walked into a land soaked with blood. No. It was drenched with blood. The reeking odour of the alkalic blood was nauseating. I almost bowled over, at first. Then I got used to it. Then I got high on it. I saw the crimson red sun. I wondered if it was the colour of the sun or of the blood splattered over. Here and there, were chunks of meat twitching. I was not sure if I was walking on the land, for it was so soft, mushy and sticky from all that blood, it could as well have been a layer of flesh. Here and there were bones sticking out. Bones with cleanly cut edges.

A flash of light sought my attention to a group of demons closing in a circle. Fifteen feet tall beasts. A few had risen from the blood soaked ground just before I reached. They were a few hundreds. Some had long heavy tails. Some had scales on their body. Some were hairy. No. Not anything like the images of demons imagined by a child when his mother scares him to sleep. Some had horns. Horns that rose from the sides of head, shoulders, elbows, ankles. Some had many limbs. Fangs. Long claws. Not all of them were ugly though. The ugly ones were clumsy. But the handsome and the beautiful ones were very swift and skillful. The demons must be very heavy and powerful. When they ran, I could feel the land shiver. They all had weapons. Swords, axes, clubs.. weapons of all kinds. Were they fighting themselves? It would not be a surprise. They are so brutal. Savages. Strong and fast savages. But no. They were not fighting themselves, for a moment later I saw the warrior. Or rather a part of him. Wings. He had wings! I saw the wings raised above. The warrior must be pretty tall too, But I could not see him. I saw only the wings. Black wings dripping with scarlet red blood. I heard words. A spell being chanted. A strange language but the spell resonated in me. A female voice. Then I saw thunder being wielded in a hand striking down half the legion in a moment. It should have made me shudder. When I think about it now, it does. More beasts fell. The dusk was approaching fast. And then I saw the silhouette of the warrior against the setting sun; the silhouette of a warrior who moved so fast, my eyes could not catch up with the movements. There was a brisk movement in the wings and the two hands and the next I saw was two beasts slain by the wings, one beast with its head cut off and the other with its heart plunged out by bare hands. I felt the wrath with which that heart was squashed. But deep inside I felt grief. The grief was not mine. It was only when I understood, that I was abe to see. I saw the sword, the majestic sword in such skillful hands. I saw the warrior in full glory. In her full glory. The sword was long and gracefully thin. It was red with blood dripping from it. And where there was no blood, there was nothing. It was a invisible sword, perhaps. She was about thirteen feet tall. She jerked the blade free of blood. She dropped the punctured heart from her other hand. Her hands were red from blood. But she had no scratch. She is unwounded. Unwounded despite fighting with so many demons. Her skin was black. Her eyes red. She had elven ears and her hair was .. blue! The colour of Lapis Lazuli, that blended in harmony with the tan of her skin, and yet, it stood out.

For a brief moment my eyes met hers. She was searching. When she saw me, her expression changed. She felt relieved. But not relaxed. Her hands kept killing. With every beast that she slew, blood spilled over her. She did not wince. Not once. Two more demons left; charging at her madly. It is not much for a warrior who killed, I don't know how many, thousands. But she faltered. She thrust her sword in the ground and rested her weight on it. 'No! No! Not now. Don't give in now', screamed my heart with in me. But she would not move. Her eyelids came down closing. 'No. Not now', I whispered. Before I knew, I was chanting. How could I know any spells. Who am I? A streak of pleasure throbbed against its prison walls inside my heart as I watched the two demons crumble down to dust in their run.

The warrior fell to her knees, her chin resting on the back of her palms, placed on the hilt of the sword. I began walking towards her. Its a strange land, I noticed then. A flat land stretching as far as your eyes could see. The entire expanse drenched in blood. I walked across that little stretch between me and the warrior. Three feet away from her I stopped and wondered if she shrank to my height or if I grew almost as tall as her. For I have nothing to judge which, and I can see she is not too tall now. Her sword seemed shorter than earlier, too. Some emotion .. striking its fists against the walls of my heart. Pounding. But I could not recognise what emotion it is. Its as though, the emotion was locked away in a prison. The same prison against which throbbed the pleasure of spelling magic. I stood beside her, bent low, took a hand from under her chin and put it over my shoulder, across my neck. When I touched her, her skin changed to a fairer complexion. I was preparing myself to lift her to her feet. For a warrior who fought those several, save two, demons, she was unusually light. So light, I lost my balance out of over expectation. I felt foolish. What was I thinking. A winged creature ought to be light. I got her on her feet and walked with almost all her weight on me. She would not let go her sword and dragged it along.

Her face was so close to mine. She was beautiful. I wanted to see her more clearly. Take in all the details. I turned to see her. That imprisoned emotion pounding hard. What is it? What is happening to me? Who am I? I pressed my lips against her cheek. Then I forced myself to draw back. What am I doing? A tiny droplet coursed down her eye. I raised my hand to wipe it off. I rubbed away the droplet, but left behind blood. Surprised I look at my hand. My wrist is cut. When did it happen? How? I looked at her face again and saw her looking at me through the corner of her eyes. It started pouring from above. As the rain trickled down her face washing away the blood, she licked it off and drank. The prison inside me broke open. I stopped walking. I closed my eyes. Yet, I could see. I could see her strength coming back. I could see her wings washed clean. I saw her blade draw back inside the cut on her wrist. I saw her wrist heal. She no longer leaned on me. She wound her strong hands across me. I heard the flutter of feathers as she stretched her wings. The flutter of feathers. The sound I have been waiting for all my life. I opened my eyes to see us flying. Flying in a different world. A world with trees and mountains and birds.

We sat on a tall hill. A very tall hill. The wind was blowing against my face. I could hear the ruffle of feathers in her wings. She held them outstretched. I could feel it with in me. She was relishing the wind. But I could also see tears in her eyes.
"You should go back", she said
"Not without you"
"I will come with you, Aeon"

It felt like a fragment of memory. An alien fragment of memory. It was so different it did not feel like mine.
"Aeon? My name is Jade", I said. Raven was sitting across the branch over the lake. She was watching the fish.
"Your name is Aeon. I named you", she asserted.

Well, thats another story.

When Raven was cursed to stay in Eternity, the magic distorted, as it always does around her. When Raven landed, a few, I mean a few hundred, demons rose from the ground. No matter how many times she killed them, they kept rising from the dead. The curse of eternity could be broken, but Raven has sworn to never use magic. There are two other ways to break the curse: the one who cast the spell must withdraw, but that would not have worked well with magic distorting around Raven. The other way is to somehow put an object that does not belong to the Eternity. I might have been that object. There is more to me, but it need not be talked about now. With my arrival, the curse broke. Her strength was already failing. She summoned the lightning through me.

The contract? Oh! the contract. Right. She drank my blood I accidentally rubbed on her cheek. That is the contract and this is the story. Story of the contract in blood, of the missing fragment of memory.

Ravene Maternum Aeon.
Or just call me Jade.

the Contract in blood

Long long time ago, actually forty three thousand two hundred seconds back, give or take seven thousand two hundred, there was a chat! Yes. A chat. An interesting and very deep-in-meaning chat from which ensued a story. The chat was between two characters of my story. One was called Mad-eye. Nobody knows his true name. The other was called Chrno. Thats not his true name either. His true name is Aeon. Chrno is the name of his "pal", whom he liked. Whom he killed! This story is narrated by Aeon. BITI, for your reference is a place from where you graduate to heaven. Aeon dropped out. Nobody knows whether he voluntarily dropped out or if he could no longer cope up. But who cares? The story...
............... Mad-eye: Sorry, I keep missing you. Exams here.
7:25 PM Chrno: naa... May be I am getting more enigmatic :P

Mad-eye: hehe. How have you been?

7:26 PM chrno: hmmm... Hearty might be the right word.

Happy to be physically out of the BITI :)

Mad-eye: why??

Nice place.

chrno: The boy was eating filth there.

Yea. Good place alright!

Nice ambiance and all,

7:27 PM but food is rotting.

Mad-eye: chee

chrno: And I will tell u what...

That air in BITI.. or something .. there is something that sucks on ur life force.

7:28 PM Mad-eye: haha

chrno: na Really...

Mad-eye: :) Chrno! what happened to you?

chrno: Ever wondered why there are so many crows?

They are more like vultures waiting on the road side in deserts

waiting for u to fall dead.

Mad-eye: I thought you liked crows!

7:29 PM chrno: I like a raven. I like one Raven. Crows are a different species. Same family/genus whatever. But entirely different species. Besides even among ravens I like only my Raven. They are all not the same. They are more like humans. In fact, they are more than humans. They have character.

7:31 PM Mad-eye: How can you distinguish? They all look the same to me chrno: You have to have a bond. More like a contract written in blood. When you make one, you will know which of them is the Raven you bonded with. Although you still can't make out individuals from the the group of others. Besides you don't need to.

Mad-eye: So what are the rules of the contract?7:32 PM chrno: I dunno! 'Cause mine was ... umm... 7:33 PM chrno: natural Mad-eye: Oh?chrno: You know those times when my wrist was cut and I was choking on two cakes of rat poison. Half the blood gone and the rest half blue from poison, eyes dilate. I was at the verge. Of hallucination. Hallucination that comes before death. But I was conscious still. And then something happened. I did not remember what, for sometime. I must have been hallucinating then. I forgot. When I opened my eyes, I was lying down. White bed, white walls, white clothes, white bandage on my wrist with a tiny red smudge. There were people all around. Some were sitting on bed. Some standing by the bed post. All of them were moaning though! "Why did you do it?". 'Why did I do what?', I wondered. All of them familiar faces. Almost all. There was one girl, though, whom I did not recognise. She was sitting beside me on the bed. Hands on my hand. My eyes met hers. She smiled. 'Do I know her? Who is she?'; I wanted to ask. I looked at everybody else. May be she is somebody's friend. Just came along, perhaps. But nobody said anything. They were all still asking the same question: "Why?". They were acting as if she was not there. And then somebody's hand passed right through her. I knew for sure then. Nobody saw her. nobody heard her. Nobody felt her. Nobody but me. Her hands were warm. 'Were not ghosts supposed to be cold? Was she a ghost? How am I seeing her? Did I die?' But everybody was talking to me. Though I was not answering and they did not want any answer. There was no answer anyway.

Then the nurse came along and drove everyone away. "Shoo". But this girl stayed. She was smiling. Her hands still cupping mine. Her eyes watching me. Watching over me. I had never seen such gentle eyes. And they were red. Light red. Very artificial. But thats probably because I've never seen red human eyes. And then I asked her, "Are you a ghost?". She looked at me. Kept staring at me. For long. 'Must be ghost. She probably can't hear me', I thought. Then her look turned into a searching glance. And then there was a ring of laughter. Such a cheerful ringing laugh. I've never seen her laugh like that again. I felt stupid.

"My name is Raven", she said, "Azureth Maternum Raven". She touched my forehead and I sank into sleep.

Later, when we walked together after getting discharged from the hospital, I asked her if she thought I was stupid to have thought of her as a ghost. She smiled and said, "You don't remember, do you?

18 minutes

7:51 PM Mad-eye: So...... What was it?

chrno: Hmm.. Now thats the interesting story. Story of my contract.But you got exam tomorrow and I don't think you can afford to sit and listen to the story.
7:52 PM Mad-eye: Unfortunately , thats true.
chrno: Worry not, my dear Mad-eye! I will put it up on Jade's blog.
Mad-eye: I am grateful for your consideration, chrno chan. I will be sure to thank Jade.
7:53 PM chrno: :) nja na Mad-eye kun.
Mad-eye: ja na.
So here is the story...........
"You don't remember, do you?"
I looked up at her, puzzled. She is tall. Must be six feet. But she does not look like a giant. With her long hair, that 'grim+sad+serene+strong' look on her face, long fingers and graceful steps, the only thing you will notice about her is that she is beautiful. I have been told by some that they also feel scared. But I don't. She is like my angel. She is my angel!
"Remember what?". I wanted to ask what her age was. She turned and smiled as if she knew what I was thinking.
After a long silent while, I said, "I'm waiting".
She smiled and walked ahead of me. "I thought you would remember. I wanted to ask how you reached there".
"Reach where?"
"The Eternity"
"hm?"
"The land where a moment stretched on and on. Where the time does not move. Where the same things keep happening over and over".
"Is that where you lived?"
She turned towards me. Swiftly. Her eyes were deep red now. True colour. The smile is gone. But she is even more beautiful now.
'Oh Boy! Did I make her mad!', I thought.
"No", she said.
A breeze brushed past us, bringing with it the fragrance of 'arali poove'. We reached the road along a lake and it was cloudy. Dark clouds. Darkness wrought with anger and pain.
"Thats where I was put", she continued.
"By whom?"
"My mother"
"Why?"
"I must have annoyed her. She was punishing me".
'Boy! Talk about being lucky. You should know how my mother punishes me', I thought.
"I do", she said! I was astonished.
"You can.... read my mind?"
"Hear your thoughts. Yes. You can hear mine too. For that matter anybody's"
Disbelief. But I tried.
"I can't"
'That's because I was not thinking anything', she thought.
"We can talk through mind?", I yelled. And immediately flushed feeling stupid. She was amused. But she did not laugh. She no longer laughed.
"Of course"
'Wow', I whispered in my mind.
She continued,"Your mom locks you up in space. My mother locked me up in time. Only she did not know some demons got trapped with me. Magic always gets distorted around me".
"Demons?", I whispered. Somethings coming back to my mind. She peered into me.

The revelation came down upon me, like tiles falling over, from the roof.

.............to be continued...

Aeon.

A way of life.

I graduated from a institute with not just a Bachelor's degree but also a living style. I am used to squandering my money on sixty rupee coffee and eighty rupee brownie, on one hundred and twenty rupee mushroom and corn stew and forty five rupee glass of orange juice. My one time (once in a month) spending in a book store is a thousand and two hundred. No. I am not a shopping maniac. I don't spend money on buying my trousers and tees and jeans every now and then. I spend money on "essential commodities". I buy clothes only when I am down to a meager three pairs. Books are essential to me. Oh yes, more essential than daily food. Food in mortal sense is not essential at all. I wonder why this is so, though. However, an occasional splurge on meat and wine is needed. For otherwise, my craving drives me insane and ill-tempered. I moved recently, to a new place. The place is alright. There is this blackened-with-filth ocean shore in the back-yard. The place is close to my work-place. And the rent is modest. The other tenants are alright, too. But just that. Obviously, since none of them graduated from the place I did, they are not very interesting either. It has nothing to do with what institute they graduated from. But I would like to credit my college for the oddities I have acquired. As a result, they don't crave to watch Dark Knight's first show like I do. They don't need to eat in a dingy place where lot of girls and lot of people come. They just need to eat. But I can't be like them.

So I took my bath, wore my best apparel. I put the book, "Dark Alchemy: Magical Tales from Masters of Modern Fantasy", in my bag, checked my wallet and stepped out into cloudy, humid, yet bright Sunday evening. I walked the familiar road towards my office. Around the corner of a public park, a kilometer away from house, there are two coffee-houses. Cafe Coffee Day promised "a lot can happen over a coffee". But I did not want a lot. So I stepped into the other cafe, the Baristas. It was already bustling with humans. I have to mention the species, because lately I read an article that said restaurants in London permit dogs. Not that somethings wrong with that; this place is filled with just humans. How just they are, I know not. I have refrained since long, from judging humans and being clairaudient to their thoughts.

I asked the waiter, 'Is there a seat for one?'. I just wanted to make sure they wont embarrass me saying they don't serve bachelors and singles. But they do. The waiter smiled showing me a table. It was a round table in a corner outside the glass cafe with just one chair. The other chair was either taken away by the large group sitting on the adjacent table or this cafe has tables particularly for bachelors. Either way it did not matter to me. I took out the book and started reading from the page bookmarked by the ribbon. Its a collection of fantasy short fiction. I was reading a particularly enchanting story. Not all stories are as interesting as this. In fact very few are. You stumble up on such stories after reading through a large number of stories. And when you read the story, you feel that crispy, tangy sensation in your tongue, that sharpness in your eyes, that mysticism in your ears, that hair splitting, spine chilling sensation in your heart. There are goosebumps on your arms. In spite of the ranting woman or the shrieking group sitting near by, you become deaf to all the noise except the voice of the persona or the character taking lead.

'Sir? Ahem!'. Darn! Just when a spell is about to take place, that magical world shuts me out, shoving me into the mundane world to attend to the honking bearer, with a pen and a scribbling pad. 'Your order, sir?'. 'Yes'. A quick look at the menu brochure. Names, illustrative pictures and rates. 'A cappuccino and a Devil's Delight, please'. The bearer goes away. But the curse does not leave me so soon. The magical world does not accept me instantly. Too many humans around hampering my concentration.

I tuck the portal key back in.. I meant the book. Then I took out the Reader's Digest. People around relaxed. Think this is the book more appropriate for the ambiance. I started reading an article about how a boy got a chance to sing with the then president Dr. Abdul Kalam. The boy was proud. The boy was happy. The boy states he realised that the quality that unites all great men is humility. Rightly said. It reminded me of how I ended an article for a magazine back at college. I mentioned I learnt three things and one of them was humility. My Coffee and Cake. mmmm.... moist... soft... bitter (in a chocolaty way)... just what I had missed for quite some time now. Eighty bucks is it? Oh. But its worth it. mmmm.. I began brooding. Reminiscing. My way of life. I used to write.
The large group sitting on the adjacent table has 3 boys and 4 girls. One of them is examining a hand-written paper. Some club. May be a handwriting analysis club meeting weekly. Somebody was saying look at those Rs and Ts. Somebody else said, just like writers'. OR may be they are some literary club discussing some author's hand-written work.
I used to draw. I used to read. I used to work with computers. I could cook.
Inside the glass housed cafe, a girl was reading a text-book. Business Law Management! Strange so they come here to do their homework too!
I could stitch. Flowers bloomed happily in the gardens I worked. I knew quite some lessons that would enable me to live my life. I made the right choices every stage of my life. No. Things just happened right. I did not choose. They happened.

A girl happened to stroll by. 'Do you mind if I sit?', she asked pointing her finger gingerly over the table. 'No. Not at all. Only there is no chair and I wont give up mine', I said, quite sober. But she laughed. She turned to the bearer behind her and gestured to put a chair across. Now, the corner I was sitting in is so crowded, the chair will need to be lifted and put across. The chairs there were not plastic and they were not light. So she suggested a boy in the large group to take up the chair the bearer had brought, leaving his to her. That would avoid the need to lift a chair. Nice! She looks for better and efficient means. Unfortunately, her suggestion caused more ruckus than she might have imagined. The boy got confused and you know confusion is contagious. Words were hurled at everybody in the group by everybody else in the group. They asked the bearer to move in now and now they asked him to move out. There was shuffling of chairs. somebody has already made a chair her favourite. The girl stood by the table irritated, probably wondering why she had to suggest what could have been neatly implemented, if only they were a little more intelligent. And while she brooded over her mistake, somebody moaned about spilt iced tea on a chair.

Finally, when she got a chair to sit, she leaned back, looked down under the table and stretched her legs. 'Oh Boy! And to think they are graduates from good schools!'. She hates the inefficient kind. Sweet! I smiled. I should have returned to reading Reader's Digest. Instead I took another bite of the Devil's Delight. It was a delight indeed. She had long black hair, collected in a bun on the crown of her head and then let loose below. She had strange eyes. Were they red? Dark red perhaps. I was never a good observer. Subtle features like the colour of eyes often mentioned in the stories (more like a literary element) always escaped my observation. And yet I could not help be mesmerized by her eyes. But they were subtle. Nobody would have noticed. Nobody but me. She had cherry red lips. No. Not lipstick. There was no gloss. There was no smudge on the glass she just drank water from. On the other hand there was, on mine. No, I don't use lipstick either. But somebody who used the glass before, obviously does. She was serenely dressed. A short white shirt with designer print in black and a orange skirt with flowers printed in green. 'My name is Nevra'. I watched her lips spelling her name. Interesting name, I thought. Her eyes were on me. Looking, perhaps peering inside me. Those deep, deep red eyes. 'Now you tell me yours. That's how it works'. She was smiling. She was not embarrassed. This is perfect. Way too perfect. She is intelligent. She is beautiful. And she knows, I am lost.

'Lost, are we?', came the gentle voice. I smiled. Easily. 'You know', I said.
'What did she talk about this time?', she teased.
'Oh this and that'.
'Yeah?'
'Well, she only finished her introduction'
'Awww..'
She nudged me in my side, while I giggled. 'You know, we should look for something more lofty', I said. 'Hmm', she agreed. She loved watching the fish from where we were perched on. It was a tall pillar in the middle of the sea from which trusses were hanging. A bridge is being worked on. She loved the high places. And I loved listening to the flutter of feathers in her wings... her raven black wings.

I began brooding again. Reminiscing. Musing on the way of life. I have been told by different people. I have been told I am good at different things. Some wanted me to be a academician. Some wanted me to be a painter. Some wanted me to be a writer. I am not trying to brag. I know what skills I possess. I also know how good I am. Which is not so good. I could have become an artist, but that's not my way of life. I could have become a academician, but that's not my way of life either. My life has no "way". There is only a place. One place to be at. Beside Raven, listening to her story. The story of her world, her folk. I rested my head over her shoulders and drifted with her to her world, which became mine. The kingdom ruled by princess Azure and her chevalier Raven! The Enchanted Forest. The valley of fireflies. My world. My home. My way of life. Oh let my epitaph read "..lost in the valley of fireflies..."!

Jade.

coming back...

Yes. I know its a long time. But its ok. My first new post is about to come and I have updated the lists in the side too. Not fully..but yes, I did update.

Jade.