Tranquility Inn

Tranquility Inn

I was tired. I was growing impatient. What’s more, my wrench slipped from my hand and landed on my large right toe. I let out an involuntary scream of agony. It took a great deal of restraint not to curse and hiss out in sheer frustration.

Of all places, why should my (until now!) trustworthy car get a flat? Why should I find that the wheel nuts were rusted solid in position and when I eventually did get them loose, why should they slip from my fingers and go rolling down the slope and be lost for ever? But why?

Just my darned luck as it were, it began to drizzle! I threw the wrench into the boot of the car in disgust and wiped the sweat off my brow on my sleeve. I jumped back into the driver’s seat hoping that the rain would pass as just a drizzle and I could get to my labours of fixing the flat and be on my way again.

The clouds grew thicker and the rain began to increase steadily; the drops became larger and the noise of them thudding on my car’s bonnet was like Hercules pounding on my head mistaking it for one of the Hydra’s own! I certainly would have preferred the sledge-hammer.

I waited. And hoped. The digital clock display on the dashboard said 7:30 PM. It was growing dark. I tried the FM tuner in the car. Static. I fiddled with the tuner this way and that. More static! I began to think of all the improbable reasons for me to be having such a miserable day. Here I was in the middle of nowhere, caught in an unseasonal downpour and with a flat and a wheel that could not be removed! And it was going to be night soon. I did not want to be in such an uncomfortable and potentially risky situation. For who knew what fell creatures and luck the night would bring?

Eventually I must have dozed off, for if you allow it, the pitter-patter of falling rain coupled with sheer boredom and helplessness can actually lull you to sleep.

* * *

The incessant knock on the window glass upon which my head was resting woke me up with a start. I squinted to clear my vision. What new twist of the foulest luck was this? The digital clock read 8:05 PM. I realized it was still raining; a steady downpour. I looked at the source of the knocking again. It was a hooded figure. Just a few metres away, I saw two round sources of light, which must have been a car’s headlights, refracted into a million diamond fragments by the rivulets of rain streaming down my window.

I rolled the window down slightly. I saw a man wearing a raincoat with a hood to protect his head.

“Are you having any trouble?”, he said.

“I have a flat and I lost the wheel nuts and it is raining. I am tired and hungry. Yes, I am in trouble.” Where were my manners?!

“I can see that too. I might be able to help. I live around these parts. Lucky for you that I was held up at work. Most days I am home long before this time!”

I made amends quickly. “Thank you kindly. My name is Steve. What’s yours?”

“They call me Sam. Station Master Sam. Pick up your keys and come with me if you will. I have my car right here and I know a lovely little cottage inn where you can have a nice cuppa and get your spirits back. We can take care of the car in the morning.”

I thought for a moment. The rain did not look like abating. There was no way I was going to get to London that night. “That would be very nice thank you. How far is this place?”

“Not far from here. A mile and half at most.”

So, there I was feeling all good again that a saviour had come to my rescue. Things were going to be OK after all! I picked up my keys, turned up the window and stepped out in the rain. Sam was holding up an unfurled umbrella. I have no idea where he produced that from, for I had not noticed him holding one - furled or unfurled, until then. At any rate, things were beginning to look better and so with a small glow of warmth beginning to spark in my heart, I set off with Sam in his car.

The car jolted along on the uneven road and its headlights played a medley of its own on the road. The rain had reached the proportions of a deluge by now and progress was slow, but steady. I was beginning to feel slightly better and tried making conversation.

“So you are the station master, eh?”

“Yeah.”

“Get many trains coming to this town? By the way, what is this town called? Is this even a town?”

Sam smiled at me and looked ahead at the road again. “My friend, you are in Tranquil Vale. We get one passenger train every day that brings a few tourists and some supplies. It used to be an every day regular service but lately the visiting tourists have dwindled a bit. I guess it is just a small out-of-the-way spot that not too many care for.”

“That is a nice name for a town! I bet it must be peaceful here. Tranquil, eh?” I did not think the pounding rain was helping the town live up to its name just at that moment!

“You bet. I wouldn’t go away from here for anything.” Sam smiled and concentrated on keeping the car on a straight line, at least as straight as he could manage.

In just a little while, we could see the faint glow of yellow in the distance. Gradually it grew in size and intensity until we were almost next to it and stopped. Sam shut off the engine and we stepped out and quickly ran into the entrance of the Inn. I could not see anything on the outside because of the darkness and the thick blanket of rain. However the yellow lantern hanging in the middle of what must have been the porch of the Inn was welcoming indeed.

As we walked in, a rather portly looking fellow with a cherubic face hustled towards us. I had a colourful apron around him, which I thought he had last removed during the war!

“Sam, what brings you here at this time of the night? And in this rain too? I see you have brought a friend. Let me take your raincoat off.”

“Hello Parker, it is a horrible night out there. Not one to be out in. The train came in today with supplies and was late, you see and so I got held up at the station. On my way back home, I found this gentleman here needing a spot of assistance. His car is broken down.”

“Ah, so! You did the right thing Sam. Good on you. We can get Kenny to look at the car in the morning and he will set her right in no time at all. Kenny is a whiz with motors see!”

Parker led us in and left us with some fresh towels so we could dry ourselves. The raincoat and the umbrella really had not done much to keep us dry, in spite of us having spent only just a few moments out in the rain jumping in and out of cars. There was a crackling fire in the hearth and a general warmth in the room that felt comfortable. As we toweled ourselves dry, Parker appeared again.

“Good Sir, would you like a hot cup of tea? Or coffee perhaps? Would you prefer it with a dash of brandy, as a lift-me-upper?”

“My name is Steve. I will have the coffee Parker but lay off the brandy. I have stayed away from it since a long time. Do you reckon we could get a spot of something to eat? I just realized, I am awfully hungry! I know it is late…”

“No worries Steve, Sir! Ingrid and I will be happy to organize a simple supper in no time.”

Parker brought us our coffees quickly and vanished for the second time in few minutes, leaving Sam and I sitting in the cozy front room of the inn.

For the first time that evening I had the chance to actually look clearly at my saviour. Sam was middle-aged. He seemed generally at ease with himself and those around him. It was an easy guess that he definitely knew everyone in Tranquil Vale and that everyone in Tranquil Vale knew Station Master Sam. He had a perpetual smile on his face, not the kind that is forced and looks quite out of place like overdone makeup, but a genuine one etched into the lines of his face. He was of average height and his frame was neither too lean nor too stocky. Having hung up his raincoat and hat and umbrella, he was dressed rather simply but neat. In all he seemed the quintessential warm, small town gentleman.

Sam sat there on his sofa sipping his cup of hot cappuccino, his eyes almost closed. He must be tired after a long day at the station, I thought. I was tired myself. Oh how I longed for a nice supper. Something simple but hot and served with love would fill my stomach and sooth my aching mind and rid me of my troubles at least for the night. A good night’s sleep and I would be game to take on my car in the morning. For some reason I thought I would love to have simple porridge or some soup! Ah, I thought, how the mind plays tricks on you!

I looked around the room. The fire was still burning quite vigorously in the hearth. There was a nice ornate little engraved clock on the mantle over the hearth. Lovely paintings of rustic scenes adorned the wall above the fireplace and also the sides over the sofas on either side of the hearth. There was a lady buying fruit at a Sunday market stall, a general crowd at a fair, children playing in the muddy banks of the creek – all scenes from the town. The pictures might have been rather old but were incredibly well done by the artist. The whole room oozed happiness and contentment.

I was contemplating whether it was the coffee or the ambience in the room that was making me feel quite cozy and comfortable. I had nearly forgotten how much of a foul mood I had been not so long ago. Just then Parker returned to announce supper. Sam woke up, “I must have dozed off!”

Parker led us to the adjoining dining room. There was a nice old mahogany dining table with six chairs around it. A veritable feast was laid out on the table. The aroma that wafted towards me as I went into the room was heavenly. Ingrid came out from an adjoining corridor from what I presumed would have been the kitchen with a covered dish and set it in the middle of the table. “Dessert,” she announced plainly. We all sat down to eat, Parker and Ingrid joining Sam and I after a little bit of cajoling from our part.

It was a feast fit for a king and I ate like there was no tomorrow. Three courses and dessert later, I was feeling positively cheerful. Ingrid led me upstairs to my room for the night. I found myself in a petite and cozy room. The bed was warm and inviting. I fell into it and in no time at all was fast asleep, all the troubles of the day forgotten. I remember dreaming of angels tucking me in, in a bed of feathers and singing me a lilting lullaby. That is all that I can remember, for I must have slept soundly indeed.

* * *

I woke up refreshed in the morning, stretched myself and pulled the bedroom window drapes apart. The rain had gone and the sun was out shining from a clear blue sky dotted with a few tiny white fluffs. I quickly dressed and came down only to find no one around! No Ingrid, no Parker, no Sam. What had happened to Sam?

I looked in the kitchen. Sure enough there were the dishes from last night's supper in the sink waiting to be cleaned and some left-overs on the counter. I walked into the dining room where we had had supper last night. I found the table not cleared away, which was surprising. Our plates were still at our places at the table with dried bits of food on them. I was now sure that at least last night was not a figment of my imagination; it had actually happened. I was beginning to get more and more puzzled. I went out to the front. That is when I noticed for the first time a nicely done wooden sign in the front of the inn with a sketch drawing of a beautiful valley between undulating hills with the words “Tranquility Inn” in the middle.

I walked around the Inn and looked around. The soft warmth of the morning sun was pleasant and a gentle breeze was rustling the leaves of the woods around. The cottage itself though looked quite run-down. There was considerable overgrowth around the building and the paint had all but faded away. It was as if no one had been there for a while. I would not have noticed all this in the dark and the rain last night. There was no Sunday market here anymore, nor any children playing at a fair.

I noticed a garage next to the main building itself and walked towards it. I found the door slightly ajar. I tried to push it open but was surprised by the effort it took, for the door was rusted in its hinges and creaked loudly as it gave under my forceful pushing. I looked inside. There was a mustiness in the air within. I flicked the switch at the door but no light bulb came on. As I moved in cautiously, a ray of sunlight glinted off something and I found it was my car! How did it get in here? I did remember Parker, the inn-keeper mention someone called Kenny would fix it in the morning. So Kenny must have fixed the flat and brought it in for me. He had even given it a good waxing for the chrome gleamed bright. How nice, but when did he fix it? I looked at my watch. It was only 7 :30 am!

By now, as you can imagine, a few hairs were standing up straight on the back of my neck and I thought since no one was around there was no point in me staying there any more. I got into the car and drove off in the direction of the railway station. I was hoping I could meet Sam there, although there was this nagging feeling that I might not. Maybe there was a special early morning train that day that he needed to signal.

I reached the station in about five minutes. It did not look good at all. I got out of the car and walked up to the station building. There was no station master at this station! In fact the station was completely dilapidated. I walked onto the platform only to find even the tracks were missing in sections. No train would have passed through here in fifty years!

This was all turning out to be a bit too much for me to handle first thing in the morning. I was beginning to feel a little weird and confused. Slowly the daemons within my head threatened to surface with one scary thought after another. I turned back towards my car. I took two steps and then broke into an involuntary run. Sweat started pouring out from every pore. I fumbled for the keys in my pocket and somehow managed to fit the key into the ignition and started the car. I put the car into first and slammed my foot on the accelerator.

That is when Sam came running out in front of the car, but it was too late. for me to stop. I hit him head-on and he bounced off the windshield and fell by the side. I screeched to a halt and looked back. Sam's body was nowhere to be seen. I screamed in terror. It must have been pure adrenaline flowing through me at the time that allowed me to put the foot down on the pedal and get away from the spot. Soon I came to a T junction with a sign pointing right that said Motorway M1 London – 50 miles. I turned right.

* * *

One week later

It had taken me a week to recover slightly from my ordeal. I spent that week cooped up at home and jumping at every small noise I heard. Finally I could take it no more and so decided to find out exactly what had happened on that evening and the following morning.

I went to the County Library. I enlisted the company of an old friend to research this place called Tranquil Vale. After about an hour of rummaging through old encyclopedias and news articles, we found something. It was my friend who found the news article in a copy of the Sun Daily and he read it out loud. The article was dated only a month ago and read like this:

'The story of Tranquil Vale, by Amanda Starlight, junior editor.

Sixty six years ago, a meteor hit the moon in the area known by astronomers as the Mare Tranquillitatis, which is Latin for the Sea of Tranquility. The meteor broke into many pieces and caused a large crater on the surface of the moon. One piece was thrown so far out that it escaped the lunar gravitational field and entered the Earth’s gravitational field and therefore got sucked into the earth’s atmosphere. Half of it burned away on its fall towards Earth, but a reasonably large piece fell in a remote valley some fifty miles from London just off the M1 motorway.

Initially tourists were attracted to the place to see the meteor and so a small community soon developed, thriving on the tourist business. One couple, Parker and Ingrid Pleasant set up a small Inn at the site of the meteor fall and named their inn Tranquility Inn. The administration commissioned a railway line to pass through this valley and a small station was built there for tourists to alight.

For the first year, everything was normal and business was good. There was a train passing through every day ferrying tourists and bringing supplies. However all that began to change. Rumours started coming out about strange, unexplained happenings in that place. People came back with experiences they could not clearly explain. Soon a general sense of unease crept in and tourists stayed away from the place. Then the science fiction groups came out with stories about lunar radioactivity, parallel worlds and time shifts. All this was too much for this little township to handle and in in less than three months it all but closed down. The few people that were living there moved elsewhere. It was however said at the time that Parker and Ingrid Pleasant chose to stay on in their inn along with the station master and a local motor mechanic. No one has gone near the place for over sixty years and it is not known what happened to the couple for all that remains now of Tranquil Vale is a few dilapidated buildings, the inn and the station included and some fragments of railroad track.'

My friend stopped reading and looked up at me. I was beginning to feel a profound sense of shock come over me. What exactly had I been through? My friend looked at me and asked, “Steve, exactly what took you to this place? What were you doing there?”

I looked at him and thought hard. With a vacant stare on my pale face, I slowly but honestly replied “I have no idea.”

The End

Love Me For Ever More

Love Me For Ever More

To me you are a shining star;
I love you just the way you are.
Your smile radiant like the full moon,
Makes my head go light and swoon!

Your eyes shine with confidence so bright;
And makes everything seem quite alright.
So easily you've made my heart soar;
Please will you love me for ever more?

During the night and through the day,
Whether at work or in bed I lay,
Yearning to hear your voice so sweet,
For my heart, oh what a treat!

Looking at you is a sight divine,
To be with you I long, I pine.
I'll always hold you in my heart's core;
Please will you love me for ever more?

Forever your arm I will hold,
I'll be daring, I'll be bold,
Beside you I will always stand
To protect you in any land.

Hold me in your arms tender,
Let me behold life's splendour.
Do make our story one of lore
Please will you love me for ever more?

To you, my love

To you, my love

Homeward bound went I
In the month of June.
To my family in spirits high
Singing a merry tune!

Four weeks at home ahead
Surrounded by love and care;
Hot meals, a soft bed
And thoroughly fabulous fare!

Never did I suspect then
That life's a funny game;
Little did I expect when
I'd meet a pretty dame!

I remember the day we first met
At Café Coffee Day.
The time was right, the scene was set
But we didn't know what to say!

Then I looked up at your face
And saw a warm glow.
From nowhere, with serious pace
Words began to flow.

Something clicked, something jelled
Magic was in the air.
A voice within my head yelled
That I'd found my maiden fair!

I could see you liked me too
From thine honest, sparkling eyes.
My dream of long had come true
In you, beautiful and wise!

I must have had luck profound
My heart leapt with joy.
To the wonderful person I had found
No match, the Helen of Troy!

We got engaged in a short while
Amidst friends and family.
With your radiant beaming smile
Photographed for posterity!

Before long I had to go
And we sat hand in hand.
I realised I was going to miss you so-
A feeling I couldn't stand!

Time went by too fast alas!
I had to say goodbye.
Not a moment since has passed
In my heart without a heavy sigh!

I'm far away, by many a mile
You I badly miss.
In person to behold your beautiful smile-
Is now my only wish!

For the love of the game

(Special Thanks to Malini for sowing the seeds of inspiration a long time ago and for having patiently waited through the germination period.)

The watchman picked up the hammer and hit the piece of rusted railroad track suspended from a metal chain at one end of the open middle courtyard of the school. He started off slowly, like he always did and then picked up the tempo until he reached a rapid crescendo that rang out through all corners of the school and was even heard in the pet rabbit pen that was tucked away far into the west corner of the property. He finished off with a flourish at the end with a one-two and then laid down the hammer with an air of satisfaction. It was 3:30 pm and school had ended for the day.

The quiet and stillness that had lingered in the air through most of the three and a half hours after lunch lingered nary for a minute more before all hell broke loose. Within the next minute more than two thousand boys of varying sizes emerged from all corners of the three buildings that surrounded the courtyard and poured into it en-route to the big black gates, which were now open splitting the iron-worked school emblem in two right down the middle. All were in their navy blue trousers (the lower grades in their shorts) and white shirts, mostly disheveled in appearance but all with that emphatic sigh of relief at the day being over evident on their faces.

Mohan from 8^th grade ran out also, with his overflowing and quite visibly heavy satchel over one shoulder (having just snapped one of the straps) and holding his smaller lunch bag in the other hand. As he stumbled (he will insist he was running if you asked him, but with his ungainly bag over his left shoulder and swinging the lunch bag in his right hand, stumbling was the best he could manage) down the steps into the courtyard, he yelled at his mate Raju, “I will be there in 30 minutes sharp. You get the ball and I will bring my bat.” To which Raju replied, “OK…Oh no…wait! I forgot; we need to buy a ball. Remember we hit it into the bushes last evening and never found it?”

“Oh no!” groaned Mohan. “Do you have the money to buy one?”

Raju emptied his pockets into the palm of his right hand, “I have...”, he counted the coins, “three Rupees and 50 paise only”.

“How much is the ball at Bharathi Stores?” asked Mohan. “Five Rupees?”

“No they have raised the price to Five-fifty now.” Raju was visibly worried.

Mohan, ever the cheerful sort said, “Never mind. We need another two rupees. I think I might be able to find that in what is left of my pocket money at home.”

By this point in the conversation they had reached their bicycles in the bicycle yard. As usual, Mohan found his bicycle flat on the floor, the handlebar turned in a weird angle. He set his bags down and with a sign of resignation picked it up and straightened the handlebar gripping the front wheel between his knees. With a little bit of effort, Mohan pulled apart the spring-trap of the luggage carrier behind his cycle and pushed his satchel into it. With the lunch bag slung from the right handlebar, he was all set to pedal away. Raju was already waiting to push off.

As they left the school gates, Mohan yelled, “I’ll meet you in front of Bharathi Stores in 30 minutes then.”

With that plan made, they both raced home on their bicycles dodging dodgy drivers and careless pedestrians and getting their fair share of finger pointing and being yelled at.

* * *

Mohan reached home, stretched out from his bicycle seat to unlatch the gate and pushed it in. It clanged loudly and Mother knew instantly what the source of that commotion was – like she did every evening almost exactly at the same time! Mohan ran into the house and in one fluid motion lost his shoes, dumped his satchel unceremoniously into a corner and his lunch bag went on the dining table. “Maaa….what is for Tiffin?”

“I am making dosais kanna”, she answered. “Go wash yourself and comb your hair. Remember to wash with soap!”

Mohan had already dashed off and was back in a jiffy and a little short of breath, “Maa…ready…I only have…” he consulted the clock on the wall, “…five minutes Maa….quick quick!!”

“You have to eat at least three dosais before you can go to play. And drink your cup of Maltova….Mohan, you do not have to stuff your mouth like that….you are going to choke!” Mohan frantically polished off two and a half dosais and gulped down his cup of Maltova and got up. Mother’s blood pressure kept rising like mercury on a summer morning.

“Mohan, finish off the last half now…sit down…do not run off…oh no when is this fellow going to learn to be more responsible!” With a huge sigh, mother cleared away the plate and cup and went into the kitchen rather pleased that in spite of feeling like she had just emerged from a mini twister, Mohan had not noticed that he had actually eaten three and a half dosais from his plate! Mother had her cheeky ways too!

* * *

Mohan pedaled furiously. Two minutes down the street and two left turns later, he found himself in front of Bharathi stores. As he parked his bike, Raju arrived too and both went inside.

“Anna, one hard tennis ball!” The store-keeper (“Anna” literally meaning elder brother and a term used as a respectful address) brought out a tube of tennis balls. Mohan and Raju tested the hardness of every one of the dozen in the tube by bouncing them all over the shop floor before settling on one they thought was the perfect one. After all, they had learnt by experience to identify the defective balls in a tube and pick the one with the correct amount of bounce.

“Did you not buy one yesterday Mohan?” asked the irate store-keeper. “Have you lost it already?”

“Good for you isn’t it? You get to sell one more at your unfairly hiked prices!” retorted Mohan and Raju murmured assent grinning. Mohan and Raju dumped the five-fifty in coins on the counter and ran out leaving the store-keeper gaping and slowly shaking his head at them in disbelief. Mohan and Raju were gone so soon that they did not hear him comment, “Brats! And they will be back again tomorrow! What a headache!” Not that it would have surprised them the least – not least the part about coming back tomorrow.

* * *

It was a three minute pedal to the ground. The ground in question was actually a couple of vacant plots of land in an advanced state of neglect and disrepair in the corner of a block. It was mostly hard and pebbly. Mohan and his friends had, over a period of time, moved the pebbles and made it playable on for a game of cricket. They even had marked out a pitch approximately in the middle of the ground.

As Mohan and Raju arrived, they could spot a couple of their friends already at the ground, throwing pebbles at each other, with neither being able to score a hit! When they heard the clamorous tring-tring of the cycle bells, they knew it announced the arrival of the bat and ball and that they would have a game that evening after all!

Presently more friends started to arrive and very soon there were nine boys on the ground.

“Where is Girish?”, asked Raju.

“He has not come yet, which means he probably will not”, responded Thomas nonchalantly.

A collective groan went up.

“What will we do for stumps!”, lamented Karthik, voicing the collective anxiety. Girish owned the only set of cricket stumps in their group.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find something to use as stumps instead”, said Mohan, ever the optimist. “Let us see if we can find broken branches around the ground that we can stick into the ground as stumps.”

Everyone dispersed looking for branches and soon three thin dead branches of varying lengths were found. That made for stumps at one end of the pitch.

“Let’s just make do with a flat stone at the bowler’s end”, said someone and all agreed instantly. No one wanted to spend any more time organizing things. They all wanted to play.

“Is connection allowed?” piped Srini.

“What does he mean by connection?” asked Jacob, who was a relative new-comer to the group.

Mohan explained, “You are allowed to run a batsman out at that end by just collecting the ball when you are touching the stone. Usually you put one foot on it as you stretch to collect the ball thrown in by the fielder, and that would run the batsman out if he is out of his ground.” Jacob liked the idea. “Oh that is interesting. Very well.”

All was settled then and play could begin. Oh, not just yet. Teams had to be drawn of course!

Mohan and Karthik assumed the captaincy of the two teams. Raju yearned to be captain too, but he also wanted to play on Mohan’s team. So he shrewdly chose the wise option and accepted the vice-captaincy. Occasionally, Mohan would allow him to control things for a little while.

“Who’s got a coin?”

A coin was found on somebody and was tossed. All crowded over it to see what had come down. Mohan had called correctly. He chose his first teammate, “Raju!”. Karthik picked next, “Thomas”. So it went on and both teams had four players each. That left Jacob yet to be picked. Jacob had to accept the fact that it would be him that would be overlooked until the very end for a little while. After all, wasn’t he the newest member of the group and had yet to prove his prowess?

Mohan graciously offered Jacob to Karthik’s team, but Karthik declined to have him in his team as he did not know how Jacob would fit into his plans. Magnanimously, Mohan invited Jacob into his team, even though he wondered how he would fit into his own plans!

“How many overs a side?” asked Srini.

Raju looked at his digital Milo watch, which he had won in a crossword contest recently and said, “We have just an hour before it gets dark, so we’ll play eight overs a side, ok?”

It was agreed; the coin was found again and was tossed. Mohan called correctly – most of the others could not believe how many times Mohan managed to call correctly at the toss – and obviously chose to bat. You did not entertain any other options now, did you?

Of course, Mohan opened the innings with Raju as his partner.

“Two batsmen, bowler, wicket keeper, rest all field. No umpire, so no LBW. Non-striker to call no-ball on the popping crease and wides will be generally agreed upon.”

“The telephone post at mid-wicket will be the boundary there and the brick wall the cover boundary. Behind the wicket, it would be the border with the street.”

The rules were set, the batsman had taken guard – without an umpire to give him one - and the game began.

* * *

Srini opened the bowling and bowled a tidy over costing only five runs, all run in singles. Thomas was next. He tried off-spin. Mohan and Raju managed to smash a boundary apiece and took the score to sixteen without loss.

Mohan was good with the bat and scored on either side of the wicket. Raju was more an on-side player but did connect with a lot of balls. In the middle of the third over, there was a stoppage in play as Srini had stepped on a rather large and ugly looking thorn from fielding near the bramble bushes by the boundary. So a couple of them helped him hobble to the centre and someone pulled the thorn out of his foot. A little blood seeped out and it stung badly, but Srini would carry on gamely. It was a matter of honour playing for the team and there would be enough time later in the evening to fuss over it with cotton wool and Dettol!

The innings resumed. Five overs into the innings, both openers were out, but had made decent scores and the total read 38/2.

It became 44/3 after six and Jacob strode out. Oh yes, he was the last batsman in the team – what did you think? Somehow they managed to last until the fourth ball of the eighth over and finished on 55 all out in 7.4 overs with Jacob hitting the last two balls he faced for boundaries before looping a simple return catch to the bowler.

In all the innings was a good one. Mohan and his vice-captain were seen deep in thought. The score was not too high but was very defendable if they bowled well. There had been two catches taken by the opposition, a run out and one bowled through the legs. Srini had scraped his shin on the ground – to add to his thorn-in-the-foot accident - trying to stop a boundary and was bleeding slightly. He was going to need a lot of cotton wool and Dettol not to mention the possibility of having to go to the GP for an anti-septic injection! For now, he put that hideous thought away and tried to concentrate on the game at hand.

So the second innings began with Raju opening the bowling with his medium pacers. He started with a tight over only conceding two runs and also toppling the off branch with a neat delivery to dismiss the opener.

That was a great start for Mohan’s team and they already started feeling a bit confident. To this day it is rumored that, in fact a little gamesmanship and banter could be heard from some fielders although Mohan would never admit to it, cricket being a gentleman’s game and all that!

The early confidence was to be short-lived though for Sathish started to swing his bat around, which coupled with three wides made it a very good over indeed for Karthik’s team. The score read 21/1 at the end of the second. This was not good at all for Mohan’s team.

Mohan decided it was time he bowled himself. The idea was a good one because with his off-breaks he immediately got rid of Sathish, who came charging down the pitch only to miss the ball and was stumped by the wicket-keeper in spite of first fumbling the take. What a wicket and at a crucial time too! Mohan finished a good over.

Soon the score read 49/3 in seven overs. Twilight was setting in and visibility was beginning to fade. This had become a tight game indeed! Actually, it was slipping away from Mohan’s team. He had himself bowled two overs and had used up his quota. However, he had saved one over for Raju exactly for this kind of a situation. Mohan tossed the ball to Raju. “Good luck Raju. Get us the last wicket.”

First ball of the eighth over. As Raju ran in to bowl, all fielders – at least the ones on Mohan’s team - clapped in unison. Raju bowled a good length ball on off and was pushed towards point for a quick single. 50/3.

Mohan decided to make a couple of fielding adjustments. The second ball was a full delivery and was smashed back down the pitch and Raju dived in his follow through to stop what would have at least been a couple of runs if not a boundary. What an important fielding effort! Raju got up and dusted his pants and took one look at his scraped palm. No, he could not dwell on such minor injuries now.

Four balls remained. A single and a two followed bringing the score to 53/3 with two balls remaining. Karthik’s team needed 3 runs to win and Raju needed the one wicket.

Mohan made a sign to Raju, pointing to his toes, as he reached the top of his run-up. Raju steamed in and tried to bowl the Yorker but it ended up being a full-toss. The batsman did not anticipate it and only managed to scamper a single.

Final delivery and 2 runs required for a win. Now, everyone was tense. What a match this was turning out to be!

Raju tried his yorker again. It worked better than the previous delivery. The batsman managed to jam the toe of his bat down in the nick of time and got the ball away towards square leg and took off for a run. They started back for the second, but Mohan running from mid-wicket swooped low on the ball, collected it cleanly in his right hand and flicked it under-arm to Raju. Mohan stumbled and fell flat in the dust, but Raju was waiting at the non-strikers end, left foot on the slab of stone and arms outstretched to receive the ball. He caught the ball just before the batsman slid his bat over the line and ran him out! What a finish! The score stood at 55 all out, both teams level, the scores tied!

It would be a gross understatement to say what ensued was chaos.

“That is not out, he reached the crease in time” – someone from Karthik’s team.

“Certainly not! I ran him out clearly. He was miles out” – Raju in response.

Everyone pitched in with their version of what had rightfully happened and whether the last batsman was run out or not. The batsman in question would obviously maintain that he ran as fast as the wind and made it in time! In a minute no one could actually hear what anyone else was saying because each was screaming his version of what had happened at the top of his lungs!

Eventually they gave up. Everyone was tired and covered with dust, some with dried blood. The sun had gone down and it was becoming dark rapidly. Still arguing they all went to their bicycles and started home. They had all had a thoroughly enjoyable game and a nice evening and were fully satisfied.

* * *

Mohan arrived home for the second time that evening and this time the gate did not clang, simply because Mohan did not have enough energy to push it all the way. Laboriously, he parked his cycle and went in and Amma was already waiting for him. “Do you see the time Mohan? It is already seven! Look at you! Did you fall into a ditch? So tired…how are you going to finish your homework? Haven’t I told you to play a little less on weekdays?”

Amma dragged Mohan to the bathroom and made him have a shower. Hot dinner was ready for him when he stepped out and Mohan ate greedily.

Dinner done, Amma sat Mohan down at his desk and asked him to bring out all his home-work. Ok, so there was Maths, Science and even some History home-work to write! They killed him at school, his teachers! Mohan let out a big groan! “My whole body is aching Maa…”

“Did I not ask you not to tire yourself so much? God knows what you find interesting about your game of cricket on a dusty ground?” Amma heaved a sigh. “Now concentrate on the home-work. I am going to attend to Appa and will be back in five minutes, ok?”

“Huh! What does Amma know about cricket?”, thought Mohan.

Amma came back in five minutes, only to find Mohan fast asleep with his head flopped on his books, a sentence half in the writing, his pen trailing off on the paper. Amma tried to wake him up but Mohan was already in la-la land, playing another cricket match. He was batting with his idol Sachin Tendulkar together in the world’s largest cricket ground, the MCG. He was facing up to Brett Lee. He was about to cover drive Lee for four, when Amma’s voice came through, “At least go sleep in your bed Mohan. I will wake you up early in the morning so you can finish your homework.”

Reluctantly he sleep-walked in a zig-zag line, prodded along by Maa and mumbling to himself. He fell on his bed and then with a smile on his face finished his cover drive with grace and poise. Maa shook her head, tucked him in, turned the light off and walked away, also with a smile on her face.

The End

(Dedicated to Harbhajan Singh of the Indian Cricket Team and Andrew Symonds of the Australian Cricket Team for their stellar performances forgetting the real reasons for playing cricket during the Sydney Test of Jan 2008.)

Vermicelli Upma/Brinj with cucumber raita

Vermicelli Upma/Brinj with cucumber raita

Ingredients:

For the raita:
1 medium cucumber, peeled and finely diced
1 teaspoon sugar, a pinch of salt
2-3 tablespoons plain yoghurt.
some washed and finely chopped coriander

For the Upma/Brinj:
A small cup of vermicelli (broken) - approx 50 grams
1 large ripe tomato, washed
1 medium onion
a clove of garlic finely chopped
a small piece of ginger finely chopped
an assortment of vegetables, whatever is available in your fridge (usually, carrot, beans, cauliflower, brocolli, green peas, baby corn, red capsicum, etc) washed well and diced into small pieces
2 teaspoons of refined sunflower oil
2 dry chillies (red)
1 teaspoon cumin seeds
1 teaspoon mustard seeds
a pinch of turmeric
half a teaspoon of Garam Masala
a few curry leaves, washed & split into smaller pieces if required.
salt to taste
a teaspoon ghee (clarified butter)
some broken cashew kernels and some raisins (sultanas)
a twist of lime
washed and finely chopped fresh coriander

Method:
Cucumber Raita:
Mix the chopped cucumber into the yoghurt. If the yoghurt is very thick, you may add a little water. Add the sugar and salt to taste. Garnish with the chopped coriander.

Vermicelli Upma/Brinj:
Step 1: Dry roast the vermicelli:
It is important to dry roast the vermicelli to keep it from becoming mushy and sticky in the end product. Dry roast the vermecelli in a pan, on a medium flame, constantly stirring it around so as to uniformly roast it to a light golden brown hue. Keep aside on a dry plate.

Step 2: Fry the cashews:
Fry the cashews in the ghee in a small pan. Stir as you fry. When the cashews turn golden brown, add the raisins (sultanas) in and stir for a moment. take it off the flame and set aside.

Step 3: The main thing:
Take a cooking pot. Make sure it is completely dry. Add the 2 teaspoons of oil and the cumin, mustard and red chilli. Allow it to splutter and pop. When spluttering add the curry leaves and the finely chopped garlic.

Add some water (approx 150 ml) and allow it to come to the boil. When boiling, add the diced vegetables in and the finely chopped ginger. Add a pinch of turmeric. Allow the vegetables to cook a while. Add salt and stir well. As and when required, add more water. Add a pinch of garam masala for flavour.

Once the vegetables are almost cooked, add the fried cashews and raisins. Add the roasted vermicelli as well. Add salt to taste. Keep the flame medium and stir constantly. You will notice that the water gets absorbed in by the vermicelli very quickly. If required, add a little more (hot) water. Keep stirring well to prevent it from sticking to the bottom of the pan.

Stir until most of the water is evaporated and the consistency looks right. Take off the stove and twist a little lime in to add some zing!

Garnish with the chopped coriander.

Serve with cool cucumber raita.

Bon Apetit!

The Time of my Life

The Time of my life

I am a painter.

I have loved painting ever since I can remember. It is probably the one thing I am good at.

I love to paint nature, but unlike many an artist, I prefer to paint what is immediately around us – in our daily lives – rather than a beautiful sunrise in far Tahiti or a polar bear in the Arctic. Not that there is anything wrong with those. In fact, painting something so far off does require a great deal of imagination and talent. The very purpose of such paintings is to take the viewer far away from the daily monotonies of life. To give him/her a whiff of fresh air. A welcome relief, yes, but how long could it last? Ten minutes? At first sight, you go, “Wow, how beautiful!” And then you imagine yourself sitting on that clean spit of yellow sand watching the sun’s rays shimmer off the crystal blue water. Maybe the odd dolphin leaping out of one corner of your vision. A moment of bliss later, you wake up to the fact that you are neither in Tahiti nor could you possibly contemplate a vacation there with the kind of living you earn.

That is precisely the reason why I choose to paint the world we live our daily lives in. When you look closely enough, you would be surprised to find many simply but effective frames that would bring a smile on your face. A snapshot of a young boy picking up a lady’s dropped purse or of the kids running after the balloon-man would bring the same rejuvenation to your parched imagination as would the Tahiti sunrise or the polar bear. Perhaps, you might appreciate it more because it is more plausible to you.

So when I set up my easel every morning in one corner of the cobbled old main street on the outskirts of Strasbourg I just look around me and start painting the first thing I see.

The morning was perfect. It was clear and the sky was blue, save the few fluffs of white wafting about. It was cool and the spring colours were evident in the foliage. As I turned right and slightly behind me down the slope to look towards the stone bridge at the end of the street, I saw something that was distinctive. Not that a lady taking a break from walking her poodle in the morning to look down at the creek is a novelty, but there was something unique about this lady. Or perhaps it was the poodle. It could have been the way she was standing with a slight tilt of her head. I think it was her lovely blue hat and the graceful poise. It must have been all these factors, for I already had my brush dipped into the petri-dish and the first stroke of paint on the clean canvas felt smooth.

I started with the bridge itself. The old grey cobbles that make up the road and the slightly elevated sidewalk on either side. One could not miss the simple yet lovely one-two pattern that the juxtaposed cobbles made on the road. The aged parapet itself was neat with a slightly decorative balustrade that was adorned with a newly installed metal hand rail inset with aesthetic curves and painted gold to reflect the sun. The old intricately designed lamp-posts were still there (and very much functional in the night) – just that the oil wicks had recently given way to fluorescent bulbs. The glass boxed lamp-hoods atop the posts made the scene that bit richer.

Now that the bridge was done, I could stand the lady on it. I started with an outline to bring out her poise. A slim figure, just right for the height, crafted with dexterity by His hands, striking a self-confident pose naturally, without ever trying to. She had her right hand on the rail and also holding onto her poodle’s leash and with her left she was trying to adjust her hat which, had slightly moved with the fresh morning zephyr coming from behind her and the other side of the bridge.

From my point-of-view, I could see the pure white glove on her left hand extending to her elbow as she held the brim of her hat. The hat itself was lovely. Light blue with a simple and elegant frill and a neat ribbon, it had a wide brim that flopped a little in the light breeze. The way she wore it, at a gentle tilt, cast a slight shadow on the left side of her face. A golden coil of hair fell down by her ear.

The face was one of the most beautiful I have set my eyes upon. Perfectly moulded with flawlessly youthful skin and neatly positioned and proportioned features, she looked a goddess without wearing any makeup. Her cheek had a natural pale pink blush and her eyes were clear and strong. I could not make out the colour of her eyes but I am reasonably sure it would be an electric blue.

I followed her gaze and in her line of sight I found white mother goose and her five fledglings, frolicking in the water that was as calm as a millpond. That was the sight that had brought on a slight smile which made an ever so gentle dimple that highlighted the exotic beauty of the face.

My painting was coming along quite nicely and I added in the simple details of her elegant frock. By her side was the poodle, with his tongue hanging out and tail wagging at a canine friend being pulled along by a man on his morning walk. There were a few other people about who fit into the scope of my vision.

I added in the colourful undulating surrounds, blue water, the geese family and distant church steeple on the far side of the bridge. The blue sky dotted with a few fluffy clouds and some pigeons about. Nearer in perspective, the road leading to the bridge on my side and old quaint buildings on either side.

I had almost finished and the canvas looked so rich with colour and the lady in the middle of it all stunningly beautiful. I looked towards the bridge and the lady to see if I had missed anything. She had moved and was now walking leisurely towards this side of the bridge. I noticed the one ornament she wore. A single sparkling diamond set in an outline of a heart made of white gold. The chain itself was almost invisible. I added in the diamond, that her left hand might have covered up in the distance when she was leaning on the hand rail.

I was done. I stood back to admire my work and felt very pleased. Here it was, a lovely picture of a beautiful woman walking her dog and taking a break to look at some geese having fun in the water. The simplicity of the scene made it so fresh and easy to relate to. It was very plausible too. I was just finishing with my signature and date at the right bottom corner of the canvas when I heard a light footstep behind me. I looked up and found the lady in my picture staring at the canvas. I looked at her eyes and they were soft and brown – not electric blue – but it made her look even prettier.

“Wow, how beautiful! What a wonderful painting.” She looked down at the bridge from where we stood and I followed her line of sight to see an old man with a cane stopping to admire the view from the very spot she had been a few minutes ago. Then she looked at the painting again.

Turning to me she asked, “May I buy this one, please?”

She offered me ten francs. It was a large sum of money in the year 1975 and my needs were simple. It would take care of me for a week.

Besides, in painting it, I had had the time of my life which, to me, is priceless.

* * *

‘Grandpa, why are you crying?’ My grandson, who turned ten today, was confused. I had not realized tears had welled in my eyes and were beginning to drop. Mistake not, those were not tears of sadness, instead those were tears of joy.

As I took my grandson’s hand in mine, and walked towards the steps, I contemplated the certificate I held in the other hand. “…inducted into the Louvre Hall of Fame for his fantastic depiction of Ms. Audrey Hepburn…”

I took one last look at the picture I had painted thirty one years ago sitting in a glass covered panel admired by a hundred different people. The tour guide was explaining to the crowd that the painting on the wall was worth more than a million dollars.

I turned away and walked down the steps holding my grandson’s hand.

‘Like I said, my young lad, those were simple times and I was a simple man. I had had the time of my life earning ten francs. And I have cherished that feeling all these years and it still feels more powerful than today.’

He did not seem to understand and had a confused look on his face. But only for moment, for he had spotted the colourful balloons that the man on the street was hawking.

‘May I have one of those balloons, grandpa?’

‘Sure you can. It is your birthday.’

Perhaps, to him, his tenth birthday and the balloon I buy for him would be the time of his life.

In Passing...

In Passing …

It was a lovely day.

The sun shone bright and the skies were clear. The cool autumn breeze was fresh and laden with the sweet concoction of smells from all the falling leaves. The birds sang merry songs up in the trees. I could hear a well in the distance and dogs barking. I walked along at a gentle pace breathing in the pure country air. I felt rejuvenation – something I had not felt in a little while.

I crunched my way on the cobbled street covered with dry fallen maple leaves, whistling a tune to myself. A little scamp passed by on his dilapidated cycle followed by his bounding poodle which was desperately trying to decide which was the better thing to chase – his master or his own tail. They did not seem to notice me and went their way.

The road sloped into a little valley, gently at first and then more steeply. As I came into the vale, I could see neat little houses, all set in nice rows. Spires of smoke rose from the chimneys of some and maids were about in the vegetable patches looking for potatoes and leeks perhaps.

I went past them and then the road turned towards the right. I followed it. It started growing dark. I noticed that the trees were denser here than the valley I had just left. The road sloped upwards now and was surprisingly bereft of fallen leaves. They must have been blown away down the slope by the wind that was coming down. I could feel a slight drop in the temperature.

I wanted to see where this road led to. It was not as if I had anything else to do anyway, so I continued on. A little further up, I could see a clearing emerge. The trees seemed to fall away to either side and as I came into the clearing the cobbled road ended and from there onwards it became a mowed grassy path lined with neatly pruned hedges.

The path led on straight about a hundred meters to a magnificent Victorian mansion. It looked an impressive sight standing tall in the middle of a lush green plateau set amidst the dense foliage of the mountain. Mammoth Oaks and firs and cedars lined the edge of the lawns on three sides.

My curiosity aroused, I approached the building. I could make out some people strolling about in the gardens in front. I saw more of them on the left of the building. And some more on the right. Almost everybody was dressed in black, completely formal and sombre. I could feel heaviness in the air.

I realized I had walked straight into a funeral! The funeral of a rich man. Possibly the owner and lord of this mansion.

I slowly walked into the gardens careful to stay away from the people lest they see me as intruding. I recognized the Lord Mayor of the town and his wife talking with the local councilor. He was saying, “He was a fine man. A man with great riches, but also one with a great heart. He gave to all without hesitation. It will be a long time before this town sees another soul like him.”

At the mention of soul, the councilor, a small man shuddered involuntarily and murmured ascent, “God bless his soul”, and crossed himself before excusing himself.

The Lord Mayor stared at him for a while through his monocle and then continued the conversation with his wife.

I passed a young couple. The girl was trying to console her partner.

“He was a good man. I liked him. Everybody liked him. It is tragic. Your brother was very kind to us all. He will find peace.”

“Oh, it should not have happened like this.” … sob…sob … “in the prime of his life” … sob … sob …

I pressed on slowly down the gardens towards the side of the house. I saw a large garage that could house six automobiles. There was a bright red Lamborghini in the center. I saw to the right, a Ford All Terrain and a pickup. In the far left corner sat a Morris Oxford resplendent in olive green and with gleaming silver chrome. The family limousine occupied a larger bay next to the Morris. One slot to the left of the Lamborghini was empty.

“Loved cars my master did. He took out the Spider like every morning but he never came back,” the gardener was pointing out the vacant space to a police constable who was taking notes disinterestedly. “The truck pushed the car clear off the cliff”.

I loved cars myself and I felt sorry for the guy to have gone the way he did.

I had almost reached the far end of the lawns near the back of the building when I noticed four men digging a trench. I could see the previous generation’s marked graves and the ornate head stones. I did not like the feel of it and started walking back. I wanted to leave this place. I had seen enough.

I was passing the garage on my way back to the grassy path when all the people started moving towards the front as well. I fell in among the crowd as they quietly and reverently congregated around the front porch.

The hearse arrived slowly. A black Lincoln limousine adorned with white wreaths drove up the path. I noticed the arrival area was covered in a layer of pure white lilies and a table was set up for the final homage. At the table waited the bishop in his funeral robes.

The hearse drew up and stopped noiselessly. Six pall-bearers lifted the casket and set it gracefully atop the table. The top half of the lid was open but I could not see the face from the back of the crowd.

The Bishop said a short prayer and then people filed in with wreaths and bunches of flowers to place beside the casket. Some cried inconsolably. I saw the brother shaking his head all the time in utter disbelief, held onto tightly by his partner. The Lord Mayor placed a red ribbon and a medal beside the casket. It was the Victoria Cross for distinguished service to the community and the nation. The last memorial was read by the Bishop and the last few people stepped forward to pay their respects.

I walked up behind them, clutching a white blossom.

I saw the face.

I was stupefied. The whole world started spinning before me and I suddenly felt far far away, as though I was looking upon this scene from up above the clouds.

I did not notice the casket being closed. The crowd began moving as the pall-bearers lifted the casket and set on its final journey – towards the grave. Flowers were strewn ahead of the procession.

The sun had gone down behind a cloud and I walked up behind the procession until they came to a halt beside the grave. I watched as they lifted the casket and lowered it in.

I could hear faintly, “ashes to ashes….dust to dust….”

The sign of the cross was made and mud was tossed in. People moved away until only the diggers remained.

As they started filling up the grave, my vision started to blur. I could not see the people anymore. I could not see the house anymore. I felt darkness close in on me and a rush of panic rose in my stomach. I wanted to go back. I had things to take care of.

Then I saw it. A bright source of light not far away. I reached with my hand and felt being led towards it. I reached it. I stopped.

For a moment everything became clear again. I could see the mansion and the people. I could see the garden and the path. I could even see the road I had taken and the green valley. The tramp kept on his cycle, like he always did, followed by his faithful poodle, like it always did. And the maids continued to reap potatoes, like they always did.

A feeling of happiness welled up inside of me and at once it was clear to me what I had to do.

No one saw me pass through the light.

- The End
A short story
29-June-2006.

E. S. P. (a.k.a.) The Sixth Sense

E. S. P. a.k.a. The Sixth Sense
(Extra-Sensory Perception)

The knocking woke him up.

It was dark. After all it was the middle of the night. The luminous dial of the time-piece by his bed told him it was 2 am.

The knocking came again, loud, continuous, and urgent. He tried to adjust his vision to the darkness and stumbled out of bed. A pale glow came in through the window and he felt a cold draught. It surprised him. The windows were closed. She always made sure of that each night. He reached for the light switch when his foot caught on something and he almost tripped. He got the switch and in the bright light he saw her.

It was a macabre sight. She lay in a weirdly contorted position on the ground her neck obviously broken and a trickle of blood on the floor seeping from under her hair. The shattered remains of a glass and its contents were strewn around her.

He tried to scream, but no sound would come out. He tried to move, but he did not know which way to go. His mind has been paralyzed by shock. Fear gripped his every nerve.

This time, again, it was the knocking that got him back to his senses. It was more than just knocking now. It was desperate banging. He shook himself and moved out of the bedroom and into the living room towards the main door. The banging grew more intense.

As he passed the fireplace, his hand automatically grabbed a china flower-vase. He did not even notice he did it. Something suddenly was different. The knocking! It had ceased. He moved to the door and slid the deadbolt and turned the knob. It wouldn't budge. He tried again. The door opened so suddenly onto him that he staggered backwards. He felt himself bodily lifted and thrown into the far wall of the room. He flew in the air and landed onto the fireplace. The delicate vase he was clutching shattered. He crashed to the ground and his whole body felt like it had been through a full cycle in a washing machine.

The menacing form came through the door and slowly advanced towards him, making a weird gurgling noise. His vision was blurred with his own sweat and blood and he could not see exactly what it was. Instinct told him to run and adrenaline came to his rescue. He got up. Miraculously he had not broken any bones from his being tossed. He frantically looked around for a weapon. His eye fell upon the heavy iron poker by the fireplace. It was about five feet away and the creature was almost on him.

He lunged towards the fireplace and just got to the poker moments before the creature was upon him. He thrust the pointed end at the creature's face with all his might and heard the crushing impact of iron on bone and felt the jarring contact at the same time. It gave out a howl and backed away.

He realized he had momentary respite and took the chance to run towards the open door. He got through safely enough and ran out onto the corridor. He saw three more hideous creatures advancing from the left of the long corridor and he ran right. It was not a difficult choice to make really.

He ran on. He tried to think at the same time. What was happening? How did these creatures come inside? The bubble was safe territory. The outer shields were impregnable. It was impossible for them to have got in! But here they were. Why did they come to his quarters? What had happened to the others? He had not passed anyone yet. He remembered her. She was dead. No question about that. The creature or creatures had killed her.

He stopped running. He strained to hear any noise that might warn him of approaching danger. No sound came. He looked around. He was next to the canteen area. He knew down the corridor past the canteen and up a flight of steps was the weapons store. They never carried any weapons normally but kept a store just in case. Just in case of what, no one was really sure. But he was sure that now was just such a case.

He could reach the weapons store in under a minute. First though he had to get the bio-electronic signature pass-key to open the store doors. Only one person on the station had access. This was the programs co-coordinator and head of station. Her quarters were not far from where he stood. Cautiously he peered around the corner. Nothing in sight. As quietly as possible he went in the direction of the senior staff quarters. As he rounded the last corner and approached the access door he caught sight of one ugly fiery creature come bounding towards him. He fumbled for his access card that he always wore around his neck on a plastic string and shoved the card in across the face of the reader.

The doors opened with a faint hiss. He rushed inside and hit the red button set on the wall just inside the door. The doors began to close. The doors almost closed completely when the creature smashed into it like a super-charged bull. The door buckled under the enormous force and the circuitry disintegrated. Luckily the doors did not pop open. Instead they got well and truly jammed. The creature started pounding on it.

He knew he just had moments before it got through the doors. He looked around to find the co-coordinator. That was when he saw the bodies. There were at least five of them in that room. He could see four more bodies in the adjacent room. All nine of them were dead! There were only eleven of them at the station. He was the only one alive! The realization struck him like a bolt out of a crossbow. He saw the co-coordinator lying in the next room. He stooped to pick up her wrist-band that would give him access to the weapons store. He noticed that her neck was also broken. Like some powerful force had turned it rapidly about 270 degrees. The trickle of blood left no doubt as to the nature of death.

The banging now grew louder. There was more than one creature outside that door. There was no way out. Think! There must be some other way other than the door. He saw the air duct on the ceiling. Quickly he dragged a reclining chair under it and stood on it. A firm push and the duct cover gave. He pulled himself into the narrow duct on the ceiling. He moved into it in the direction of the next room away from the creatures by the door. He knew the next room opened into the corridor further down and with some luck he might be able to get to the stairs. He came to another duct opening just like the one he had got in through. He tugged at the cover and moved it away into the duct. Cautiously he peered over the rim and to his relief found the room to be empty. It was a dining room.

He dropped to the floor silently and moved towards the door. He put his ear to it and there was no one on the other side of it. He could hear the door of the room he had just left crash inwards and the creatures get through. He quickly opened the door and scooted down the corridor. He could hear the creatures come after him. He reached the stairs and went up them three at a time. He reached the weapons store. He put his own palm on the bio-scanner and then thrust his co-coordinator’s wristband into the slot for cross-confirmation. The system accepted his entry and the doors opened. He got in and closed the doors in the nick of time. He looked around at the assortment of weapons that lay around him in neat wall brackets and cupboards. He saw the most sophisticated and the most lethal generation-Q plasma guns and the power cartridges. Surely all this was superfluous for a station that was not considered dangerous?

He realized there must have been something he had missed in the introductory course. There was only one way he could escape this place now. And that was to get to the escape pod. The station had one as did any other Z-Grade standard design station.

He unlocked the doors and ran for it. An army of creatures chased him. He fired away his plasma gun and brought down several of the creatures. But their sheer numbers overwhelmed him. They came at him from all sides. Finally he was overpowered and one of them got to him.

It grabbed him by the neck and up close he could see the green fiery eyes with the thin yellow pupils. That was the last thing he saw as the creature viciously twisted his neck and his gun clattered to the floor. Silence followed.

* * *

A few moments later he awoke with a start. He felt cold and clammy. He was drenched in sweat and his breath was rapid and in short bursts. His throat was dry and in reflex reaction he gingerly felt his neck. It was not broken. He was not dead. It was dark. He must have had a nightmare. Saturn Station Z7 was a safe scientific research outpost. He had had a tiring day. He needed a drink.

The luminous dial of the time-piece by his bed told him it was 2 am.

He tried to adjust his vision to the darkness and stumbled out of bed. A pale glow came in through the window and he felt a cold draught. It surprised him. The windows were closed. She always made sure of that each night. He reached for the light switch when his foot caught on something and he almost tripped.

Then he heard the knocking.

- THE END
A short story
(Written: 15-June-2006)

Cricket, my heart beats for you!

From the urchin's street corner version to the casual backyard game, from the soft tennis ball version to the proper gentleman's game on a turf wicket in a lush green field, now, after so many years, I have played it all. And boy, is my heart a-flutter!

I am no great cricketer, but I like to think I can bat and bowl at a decent level and for me just playing the game any which way is like a sip of elixir to a parched mouth. And what better place to find elixir than in the sporting capital of the world - Melbourne, the heart of the best cricketing nation. Boy, am I glad my association with IBM has brought me to this corner of the globe.

It was bound to happen. In Melbourne, you just have to play atleast one sport or game. If you aspire to be counted as anything that is. Involve yourself in some game and you feel the pulse of the place flow in your veins and all of a sudden you have so many friends.

Well, yours truly and his mates were getting bored at home so we got a Table Tennis table and set it up in the courtyard of our apartment. I play regularly (read at least an hour everyday) and the fun it lends to an otherwise monotonous life is fantastic.

What wouldn't have got any more than passing mention if I had had written this piece a few days earlier is the fact that I did play some backyard cricket and some cricket on basketball courts and tennis courts all along. I have been to a few games here including the ICC World XI vs Australia match at the awesome Telstra Dome, the former Docklands Stadium. I have watched Pura and ING Cup games at the lush Junction Oval just across teh road from my apartment.

Then came the announcement about the corporate games in Victoria and I am honoured to be part of the team to represent Philip Morris International in the state level corporate Cricket 8s competition.

Our team now trains two to three days a week during the lunch hour. It is a nice feeling to get those pads on and wield the willow again after a long time. I hope to get going well and put on a good show for my team, fingers crossed.

I remember all too well the electric series I played in when I was in Mumbai and working with Patni Computer Systems Ltd. My good mate Damu captained us wonderfully and we, rank underdogs, almost staged a great upset winning seven matches in a row with our final victory coming of a last ball six! I am sure the kind of adrenaline that flowed then will flow again soon.

I am excited, if you haven't noticed yet. :-) And that is because, a lot of TT notwithstanding, my heart truly beats for cricket. In the land of the greatest batsman of all time, the great Sir Don, I am really excited to get to play good cricket. It might only be 8s and only a weekend competition with a few 'not ptoper' rules, but it is cricket and that is enough for me. I shall always root for the game and cricket will never fail to make my day.

* * *

As a closing note to all my readers, I am glad I did write again after a long break. I am back in blogosphere! :-)

Chickpea Cholay a.k.a. Channa Masala

Hi,

Here is some information to help any new cooks with making Channa Masala. Atleast this is how I do it. Any enhancements and suggestions are welcome.

Ingredients:

Basic ingredients:
A couple of handfulls of Chickpeas
A large ripe tomato cut in quarters
A large red onion cut in quarters
A couple of green chillies
A pinch of jaggery
A small clove of garlic
A bit of ginger
A tablespoon of Sunflower oil
A teaspoon of Garam Masala
A couple of teaspoons of Cholay Masala
Salt to taste

For the seasoning:
2 teaspoons of cumin seeds
2 teaspoons of Mustard seeds
A pinch of turmeric powder
1 tablespoon of Ghee (clarified butter)

For the garnish:
Washed and finely chopped fresh coriander

The Procedure:
Step 1: Firstly, let the chickpeas soak immersed in water for a couple of hours. This will make the chickpeas easier to cook.

Step 2: Cook the soaked chickpeas in sufficient water till they are soft. The best way of doing this is to use a pressure cooker and cook the chickpeas in it for 4-5 whistles of steam. Alternately you may use a pan on a stove or the microwave if you are adept at that. :-). Drain the water and keep aside the cooked chickpeas for now. Make sure the chickpeas are fully cooked by testing one with your finger.

Step 3: Making the Gravy:
The key to the flavours in the dish is the gravy. Grind the cut onion and tomato in a food processor/mixie in a puree. In the process of the grinding, add the chillies, garlic, ginger and jaggery to the puree and grind to a fine paste.

Get a pan onto the stove. Warm a tablespoon of sunflower oil in it and add the puree into the pan and sizzle-fry it. The aim of this exercise is to take away any of the raw sharp flavours/smells of the onion and garlic. Add required water to maintain the gravy at a reasonable consistency. Keep the gravy to a boil for a few minutes. (In case you added extra water boil it off!)

Step 4: Putting it all together:
Once the gravy is cooked at the proper consistency, add the cooked chickpeas into it and continue to cook. Add the Garam Masala and the Cholay Masala. Make sure you stir the gravy occassionally to keep it from sticking onto the bottom of the pan. Add salt to taste. When cooked enough, take the pan off the stove.

Step 5: The seasoning:
Warm the ghee in a pan and add the cumin seeds, mustard and a pinch of turmeric in. As the mustard and cumin seeds splutter, take the pan off the stove and add the spluttering mixture into the gravy. Please be careful not to get some of the spluttering ghee on your hands as that can be a little un-nerving! Ladle out some of the gravy into the spluttering pan to take out all of the ghee in it. Mix the gravy well.

Step 6: The Final Garnish:
Finally, get the cooked, seasoned Cholay into a serving pot. Garnish the Cholay by sprinkling some finely chopped coriander onto it.

Serve the cholay as a side dish with chappathis, pooris or rice.

Hope you enjoyed this recipe. Bon apetite!

Bitten by the Tag-Bug!

Morning... Just awake... only barely...
Knock knock... who's there?...
BANG... CRASH... dust and bright light... a booming voice... "You have been tagged by your Pal!"
Mortification... So it was true after all... I try to turn around wanting to run for my life... Petrified... can't move... Astonishment... fear... confused... helpless... futility... resignation... "What do want me to do?"

Him: Answer a few questions.
Me: First tell me why this is happening!

Him: Pal has tagged you with the book-bug.
Me: Pal! He gets many ideas!

Him: Do you like to read?
Me: I love to read.

Him: What do you read?
Me: I read everything from comics to magazines and short stories to full novels. True stories, fiction, fantasy and accounts.

Him: What languages do you read in?
Me: I prefer English, although I have read a little in Hindi too.

Him: What are you currently reading?
Me: Inca Gold by Clive Cussler.

Him: How many books do you own?
Me: Too many. Running out of space to shelve them.

Him: Where do you buy books?
Me: No single place. I have bought at Crossword, I buy here in Melbourne from a second hand store, from Munna-Bhai in Mumbai...

Him: How do you choose a book to buy?
Me: I look for the reviews most of the times and my friends point me on to a book they have found to be good. Sometimes I just read blurbs at a bookstore and pick one up by intuition.

Him: What is your most recent buy?
Me: A compendium of three books in one hardback by Archer.

Him: What do you pplan to read next after Inca Gold?
Me: The Rule of Four by Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason. I have borrowed it from the St Kilda public library.

Him: Is that a good library?
Me: It is paradise to any book lover. A fantastic collection of books and CDs and DVDs and audio books too. And guess what, it is all free for any resident of this place.

Him: That is impressive, enough cause for envy amongst your friends.
Me: Yes, make sure you tell Pal.

Him: Do you gift books?
Me: If the person I am gifting likes to read or even would like to start reading, I would choose a book straight away.

Him: What was the last book you gifted?
Me: A set of two leatherbound classics to my best friend at her engagement.

Him: Any book that left a lasting impression on you?
Me: Many in fact. One specifically would be Acts of Faith by Erich Segal.

Him: Is there a book that you could not finish?
Me: A few. One comes to mind immediately: Five Patients by Michael Crichton. I am not made for such types of narrative I guess.

Him: Name a few books you would recommend to a fellow reader.
Me: The Class by Erich Segal
Malgudi Days/Swami and Friends both by R. K. Narayan
Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach
The Mill on the Floss (un-abridged) by George Eliot
The Black Arrow by Robert Lewis Stevenson
The Client by John Grisham
The Bridges of Madison County by Robert James Waller
...and many more

Him: Which do you think is the best movie made out of a book?
Me: This is tough to answer. There are many to begin with. And there are different themes. I would leave this to the opinion of the individual. I will say only that I believe the charm of a book can never be truly captured on screen. Imagination that brings a book you read to life is your own while a movie is the imagination and interpretation of another, however good it may be.

Him: You have done well so far with all the questions. I have no choice but to leave you in peace now.
Me: In fact, come to think of it, I enjoyed the interrogation. Only you could have un-petrified me! Now get lost will you!

More light... dust... a chill blast of air... suction... mist... a warp... and suddenly quiet... I can move... I go to the kitchen for a glass of water... and to make some breakfast... Come to think of it, Pal, good on you... you have set me thinking. :-)

Locked Out!

Every once in a while we do something daft and make a fool of ourselves. When it happens, we dont fell good at all about being in a spot, but later on the story brings a smile on your face and giggles on others'. :-)

Why am I saying all this? I did something daft for a change. I certainly did not plan it but it happened something like this. The apartment that I live in has an automatic spring lock that locks the door when shut. You need to then have the key to open it from the outside.

Suffice it to say that keen on going to play a few games of table tennis, I picked up my paddle and rushed out of my apartment forgetting to take the keys. I had a good hour playing TT and when it ended, I couldn't find the keys to my apartment on me! Anyone who would have seen me at that moment of discovery would have seen a Merry Melodies donkey with a balloon over its head saying "DUNCE"! That is exactly how I felt anyway.

I tried to go down to the reception hoping to find the spare key, but to my chagrin, the staff had all left. The one member of the staff who lives in one of the apartments here happened not to find her spare keys and I was out there wet with sweat on a chilly winter evening and the temperature was falling below 10 degrees. Brrrr....

Necessity is the mother of invention they say; I say desperation is the gateway to all sorts of ideas. I started trying to find out a way of entering my apartment without a key. My apartment is on the first floor and I cannot hope to climb up a sheer wall on the roadside without any number of misfortunes befalling me (no pun intended) so I had to smother that idea even as it had begun to form. Then I spotted my bedroom window. This might be more plausible. First I had to remove the netting. This I managed to do without much ado after a few minutes of pulling, pushing and sliding until it eventually came off in my hands. That accomplished (without anyone spotting me and mistakenly calling the police) I had to figure out a way to undo the spring latch on the inside of the glass window to slide it open. I needed something thin and long that I could insert through the small gap between the jamb and the latch. I borrowed a pen-knife from my manager's home and he came out to help me in my efforts. We tried hard but we were not able to reach the latch with the small pen-knife and we could not find any other implement to help our cause. I had to give up after half an hour of trying and all of a sudden I started feeling the cold again.

My manager was good enough to ask me to sleep at his house for the night and I had no other option anyway so I accepted. My major dis-satisfaction now was I could not get to the nice soft chappathis and sprouted moong masala that I had cooked for dinner before going out to play. To add to the misery, I had invited another colleague to dinner and now I had to tell him that he would have to find dinner someplace else. Talk about adding insult to injury!

I sat in my manager's contemplating my not-so-comfortable position, with Manorama making wise-cracks in Thillana Mohanambal on the telly, when thanks to Dame Luck, the resident staff called up to say that she had managed to find the spare key to my apartment. How happy I felt, I cannot express in words.

So the story ended in a "happy ever after" note with me able to go have a nice shower and dig into my dinner and tuck myself cozily into bed.

Hope you dont ever forget your keys and wish you a nice weekend. Ciao! :-)

Ballarat & Blood on the Southern Cross

Sunday, 22 May 2005
Back home and resting

Hello all,

I have a long story to tell, so I shall get to it right away. I took Friday off from work and decided to go travelling. It had been more than a month since my trip the Grampians and I was getting quite restless. Work had kept me on a tight leash and I had to break free and chill out. God bless my manager for he let me and a friend of mine off on a Friday. I set about planning a trip for a couple of days such that we would be back late on Saturday evening.

Friday morning arrived, beautifully sunny with a clear sky dotted with just enough white fluff to shield the glaring sun when driving and Pravansu and I set off on our journey. Fuel tank filled and tyre pressure checked and corrected, we were all set to drive to Ballarat, our first destination.

The drive would take us an hour and twenty minutes. With Kishore Kumar singing out of a CD, the mood was just right. The holiday bug started buzzing around our ears. Ballarat is one of the oldest towns in Victoria. The town came into existence after a large amount of Gold was found to be present in and around the place. In 1850, Ballarat started as a miner’s settlement over Sovereign Hill and grew rapidly in size as word of the gold spread and people from far and wide came rushing to make their fortunes in Ballarat Gold.

We reached Ballarat in good time and made our way to the information centre where a friendly member of the staff helped us get reservations at a nice twin share motel for the night and also helped us with directions to the attractions in town. Our first visit was to the newly built Aboriginal Arts Centre. It is a small but dainty collection of art and artefacts made by the aboriginal peoples of the area. The Centre showcases the life and history of the aborigine people and has a lot of lovely didgeridoos, boomerangs and paintings.

The main attraction of Ballarat however is Sovereign Hill itself. The government has preserved the whole town in its 1850s splendour. Complete with people in 1850 costumes and shops and homes operating the way they used to in the ‘50s, Sovereign Hill is a unique experience that brings you face to face with living history.

A typical day on Sovereign Hill

The Red Hill Mining Company operated the largest mine on Sovereign Hill. I went down the real mine shaft and the tunnels on a tour and the darkness and the damp and dusty heavily laden air was quite spooky. Imagine tunnels several hundred feet deep into the ground where in some places you can only walk single file and bent double. In these depths and treacherous conditions worked the miners of a bygone era churning out 8-10 hour shifts with a single break of twenty minutes! It is no surprise that the average life expectancy of those miners, because of the unhealthy conditions that they worked in without any protection to speak of, was less than 60 years. After going deep into the tunnels, having learnt from the guide all about how the miners used to dig for gold first with just sledge-hammers and a tap and later using pneumatic drills, how water from the lower depths was pumped up continuously to keep from drowning the miners and how the quartz containing the gold veins were transported to the top manually by young boys aged 11 to 15 on carts (laden with half a ton of the rock), we rode through the dark tunnels on a track buggy into blinding sunlight. What a fantastic experience indeed!

Strolling thought the town we bumped into a file of red-coats marching about town making sure all was in order. The executioner got hold of me for getting in the way and I almost got his broadsword in my middle. Luckily for me, before he could strike, the governor’s carriage came by on Main Street and his attention was drawn for a moment and I managed to slip free to safety. That was a close shave indeed and I ran on till I reached the other part of town where I found musketeers practising firing their long muskets. I certainly did not want to get into the way and turned off towards the sweet aroma that was coming out of the building on my left. It was the confectioner‘s. A large sign outside read “Brown’s Confectionery Factory”. I walked in and was welcomed by a jolly person (his sweet s were as sweet as him, he claimed). I saw him make a mess of the place and himself as he made his famous raspberry drops. I tried one out and it tasted wonderful , just like he had claimed. I purchased a bottle of raspberry drops and bade the sweet maker goodbye.

Down the far end of Main Street I came upon the Wheel Wright. He was glad to show me how he wrought wheels and the spokes and the cogs from timber using machinery that ran on steam. The wheel wright makes the wheels for the carts and carriages of Sovereign Hill apart from shipping some to his customers abroad.

Near the mine, the smelter showed me how the nuggets were smelted and purified from the mercury in a retort and then poured into casts to make ingots each worth $50,000! Liquid Gold at 1200 degrees Centigrade is a sight to behold. The dazzle and shine will take your breath away and you cannot help but feel you want to possess it. I can understand now how Midas would have felt when he had the power to make gold out of anything by mere touch.

For recreation miners used to bowl at a nine-pin wooden alley.The alley is totally different from what we see today. It takes two people to play, for one rolls the heavy ball with both hands down a channel towards the skittles at the far end and the other replaces the fallen skittles after a throw and sends back the ball on another channel. After a few throws my arm started feeling sore and I gave it up.

I needed a bit of rest and I stopped by the stream that was flowing down Red Hill Gully. There were many busy panning for gold dust in the stream and I tried my luck as well. My luck aint anything to speak of, so I got no gold. The sun was slowly dipping down the horizon and what a day it had been for me. I shall not forget this day for a long time to come. What a life these people led in the 1850s! Hats off to their ingenious methods and discoveries.

The day was over but there was more to see. When fully dark Sovereign Hill turns into a theatre set, the largest I have seen, spread all over its 25 hectares. A multi-million dollar sound and light show called “Blood on the Southern Cross” takes you through the life and the fight of the miners against the government for their rights. The bitter struggle between the government and the common miner folk and the bloody battle that ensued are depicted in spectacular fashion under a starry sky. The miners group against the government under the banner of the blue Southern Cross. The action unfolds all around you and you are caught in the middle of a story more than a century before your time. It goes on for about 80 minutes as you are taken through different parts of the town on foot and aboard a buggy train. The climax where buildings a razed in a fire and shots are fired all around you spilling blood on the Southern Cross blew my breath away.

This day has been an exhilarating experience for me and one that will remain fresh in my memory for a very long time to come. It has been my pleasure to have shared my experiences with you and I hope you too can one day come to Ballarat and live the experience. Until my next blog from down under, I wish you all peace and happiness.