The Turn of Events.

The night was unusually eerie, with an abnormally empty train. The bottles in his knapsack clinked as he held it closer to his chest. The train pulled into the station, he stepped on to the platform. He checked the digital clock in the platform it said 09:05 p.m. He jumped as his mobile phone gave out a shrill ring which echoed in the deserted platform. He pulled out the mobile phone and looked at the unknown number flashing on the screen.

He pressed a key on t

he keypad and spoke in Gujrati “Hello Ramnik Patel bolo chuun”. (This is Ramnik Patel speaking).

“Ramnik bhai, Sharma boloon chuun, kem cho?” (This is Sharma speaking, how are you) said a squeaky voice from the other side.

“Arey Sharma bhai, yes, yes I am back in Mumbai. Just stepped out of the train, I will take a rickshaw and reach home in another half an hour.”

“Okay. How was your vi

sit to Surat?”

“Arey, saarru, the business was good. Since the demand was high I made

a neat profit and what more a trader gave me two bottles of imported scotch”, said Ramnik with a laugh which showed his gutkha stained teeth.

“Su vaat che. Then what’s the plan for tonight.”

“Come over to my house we will have a couple of drinks and watch some movie on the DVD player”, said Ramnik again with a laugh as his pot belly jiggled.

“Okay I will reach there in an hour”, said Sharma and the line went dead.

Ramnik came out of

the station and saw an auto rickshaw coming towards him. He raised his hand but the auto rickshaw increased its speed and bolted past him. “Goregaon”, he shouted in anger. But the auto rickshaw disappeared around the corner. Cars a

nd buses sped by him towards their respective destinations. He heard the soft purr of another auto rickshaw and raised his hand again. The rickshaw slowed down in front of him and stopped.

Ramnik looked at the rickshaw driver. The driver’s double chin connected his head with his torso and it looked as if he didn’t have any neck. Ramnik felt a chill in his spine when he looked at the blood shot eyes.

“Goregaon”, he fi

nally managed to mutter.

The rickshaw driver nodded uninterestedly and chewed something in his mouth. Ramnik jumped into the back seat and the rickshaw groaned into motion.

Ramnik noticed that the rickshaw driver was looking at the gold chain on his neck. He tried to

hide it behind his shirt. As their eyes met Ramnik diverted his gaze. The rickshaw driver fished out a mobile from his shirt pocket pressed a few keys and put it on his ears. After a couple of seconds he disconnected the call and put the phone back in his pocket. The driver fixed his eyes on the street and drove uninterestedly.

He suddenly took a sharp right turn into a dark alley. “Why are you not taking the highway”, asked Ramnik.

“Shortcut hai”, replied the rickshaw driver gruffly.

Ramnik clutched the knapsack closer and looked around the dark alley. Fluorescent light from a tube light lit a rectangular patch across the road ahead. He heard a dog bark somewhere in the dark. Muffled sounds of a television came from the open window. The auto rickshaw swerved again this time to the left. They were now on a small bridge across an open sewer. Dirty water flowed in the sewer and a lone streetlight flickered at the

end of the bridge. Big metal pipes emerged from under the ground at the beginning of the bridge and vanished into the ground at the end of it.

As they crossed the bridge a tall man emerged from the darkness and gestured for the auto rickshaw to stop. He was dressed in spotless white half sleeved shirt and a spotless white pair of pants. Ramnik couldn’t understand whether the skin of the man was really that dark or whether it was the contrast of the color of his garments which made him look that dark. The gold wrist watch in his right h

and glistened as he waved at the rickshaw to stop. The rickshaw lurked to a stop.

The man put his head inside the rickshaw and sniffed at the driver’s face. Ramnik looked at the man’s muscular arms almost ebony black as he held the drivers backrest, the wrist watch looked expensive. Ramnik noticed that the man’s head was now turned towards him.

“What’s in that bag?” he asked, pointing at Ramnik’s knapsack.

“Why did you stop us? And who are you to ask anything?” replied Ramnik. He had always been a meek man trying to avoid confrontations but when cornered even the cow has no option but to retaliate.

The man pulled his head out of the rickshaw, and put his head again inside, this time straight into Ramnik’s face. As Ramnik stared at the man’s dark eyes a drop of cold sweat trickled down his brows, and before he could say anything the man’s fleshy palm struck Ramnik’s left ear. All Ramnik heard was a loud clap and his head started to reel. All he could see in front of were colored spots and all he could hear was a dim buzz of a bee somewhere deep inside his eardrum.

The man held Ramnik by his collar and dragged him out of the rickshaw. Ramnik still reeling from the slap clutched on to his knapsack with his right hand and with his left held the rickshaw to keep himself standing. With watery eyes he saw the driver being pulled out of the rickshaw. As the driver begged for mercy with folded hands the man turned to Ramnik again.

“Do you know who I am”, he yelled. Before Ramnik could understand he stuck a laminated card into Ramnik’s face and yelled “Patil from crime branch Mumbai”.

“We are responsible for people’s lives here and you are not allowing me to do my duties. Do you know what I can do, I can put you in lockup for months and nobody would even come to look at you”, he shouted again.

Ramnik started sweating profusely and his legs started to shake. “But… but I haven’t done anything”, Ramnik managed to whisper.

“What is your name?” asked Patil as he snatched the knapsack from Ramnik’s hands, the bottles clunked in protest.

“Ramnik bhai”, said Ramnik.

“Toh tu bhai hai!” smirked Patil.

Ramnik shook his head vigorously.

“What is this? Liquor! That too so much”, said Patil pulling out both the bottles from the bag. “Do you have a permit with you to carry liquor in such large quantities”, he asked.

“But saab these are gifts from my friend”, said Ramnik.

“Acha! Where are you coming from?”

“Saab, Borivali.”

“Where did you pick him from”, asked Patil turning to the driver.

“Saab, from Borivali station.”

“And what were you doing at Borivali station at this time, does your friend stay at Borivali station”, asked Patil turning to Ramnik again.

“No saab I was returning from Surat.”

“What! You mean to say you smuggled these bottles from a dry state!” shouted Patil, almost spitting at Ramnik’s face as he dangled the bottle in the air.

Ramnik’s body was now shivering as if he was in a fit. Patil handed the bottles to the driver and looked inside the bag again. He pulled out a rectangular packet wrapped in news paper.

“And what is this?”said Patil waving the packet in the air.

He threw the empty bag on the ground and started tearing the news paper wrapping off unveiling a bundle of crisp Rs. 500 notes.

Patil rolled his head to his left, put his left hand on his hips, waved the bundle in the air and said, “what do we have here, a bundle of fake five

hundred rupee notes!”

“No these are not fake”, shouted Ramnik and tried to snatch the bundle from Patil’s hand. But Patil swung his left arm swiftly and caught Ramnik in the chest. Ramnik fell on the ground, clutching his chest and coughing.

“Both of you will have to come down to the police station. We will have to verify these notes.”

The driver threw himself on the ground and started howling and pleading. “But saab I have done nothing, I just picked him up from the station. I don’t know him. I have small kids at home to feed saab!” cried the driver and hung on to Patil’s legs. The driver looked at Ramnik, winked and gestured him to do the same.

On the cue Ramnik plunged forward and wrapped his hands around Patil’s other leg and started wailing, “Saab these notes are not fake, this is an honest man’s hard earned money. Please have mercy saab I have small kids, an old mother, a wife and a blind sister to feed at home.”

Patil’s gave one sharp kick which landed on the rickshaw driver’s stomach he gave out a loud yelp and went reeling in the dust. Another kick landed on Ramnik’s groin, he gave out a muffled cry and doubled in pain.

“Get up now both of you”, shouted Patil pulling Ramnik by his shirt collar.

Ramnik somehow managed to stand up still clutching his groin. Patil put the wad of notes in his shirt pocket.

“Saab we are poor people”, said the rickshaw driver standing up, “can’t we cut a deal and all go home”, and winked at Ramnik again.

Ramnik got the cue and cried again “Yes saab please, I am ready to pay you. Please saab I have small children, an old mother, a blind sister…”

“You dare to offer me a bribe, I am an honest cop I will die but will not take bribe.” shouted Patil cutting Ramnik short. “I will make both of you rot in jail for offering me a bribe.”

“Saab, please forgive me saab, I will not say that again”, cried Ramnik and threw himself again at Patil’s feet. Patil pulled him up again.

“Okay, okay we will see to that”, he said.

Patil went to the auto rickshaw and sat in the back seat. Ramnik looked at him wide eyed not knowing what was to come next. Patil took out a white handkerchief from his pant pocket and spread it on the seat beside him. He then raised his shirt and pulled out a revolver which was stuck in his pants and kept it beside the handkerchief. Ramnik stared at the white piece of cloth and then at the shiny black revolver on the brown leather seat.

“Both of you, empty whatever you have on this handkerchief.” said Patil.

Hesitantly the rickshaw driver pulled out a few notes and coins from all his pockets and put it on the handkerchief.

“The wrist watch and the mobile too”, said Patil, pointing his fleshy finger at the rickshaw driver’s wrist. The driver unstrapped the wrist watch, pulled out a mobile from his shirt pocket and kept it on the cloth. The rickshaw driver went ahead and sat on the driver’s seat.

“Tujhchya aila! Should I send you an invitation card”, swore Patil crushing his teeth at Ramnik. Ramnik with shaking hand took out his wallet, his wrist watch and mobile and put it on the handkerchief.

“Is that a gold chain in your neck”, asked Patil moving his fingers slowly on the butt of revolver.

Ramnik looked at the driver timidly for a second and said wiping tears from his eyes, “Saab my dead father gave this to me when he was dying. Please don’t take it from me. This is his last gift to me.”

“Are you taking it off or should I send you off to meet your dead father”, said Patil his fingers still feeling the butt of the pistol.

Ramnik looked at the pistol for a moment and then looked at the driver with pleading eyes. The driver jerked his head towards Patil. Ramnik wiped his brow with the back of his hand and slowly pulled out the gold chain over his neck.

“Now take both the bottles, empty them in the drain there, and break the bottles”, said Patil pointing at the bottles lying on the ground and then waving his hand towards the drain behind the rickshaw.

Ramnik picked up both the bottle and went to the drain. With a click he broke the cap of one of the bottles and started pouring the liquor as it trickled slowly through the closed spout of the bottle. He looked up at the sky saying a silent prayer hoping that after he had threw all the alcohol Patil would let him go safely to his home. The night sky was dark hardly any stars were visible.

The bottle was almost empty now so he threw the empty bottle on the side of the drain. It broke with a loud crashing noise which pierced the silent night. Hearing the noise dogs started to bark in a distance. Ramnik turned around and looked at the back of the rickshaw, it was still there. He opened the cap of the second bottle and tilted it, the liquor began to fall in the drain with a pattering sound.

Ramnik heard a spurting sound coming from behind. It sounded as if someone was trying to start a motor. And suddenly the motor started, with a loud purring noise. Ramnik turned around and saw the rickshaw gaining motion slowly. Before Ramnik could realize anything the rickshaw swerved and crossed him. Ramnik saw Patil and the rickshaw driver smiling at him from the moving rickshaw. Ramnik gave out a loud cry and ran after the rickshaw which was now racing in the direction from where it had come.

Ramnik ran shrieking like a madman after the speeding rickshaw as far as his legs would carry his potbellied body. In a minute Ramnik ran out of steam and almost avoided tripping and falling. He fell on his knees panting like a dog. The half empty bottle of liquor was still in his hand. A car whizzed by and then a taxi. He was sweating, he was thirsty and his clothes were dusty. He took a swig from the bottle.

“Arrrggghhh…” he cried as his throat burned.

Still kneeling on the ground and panting, he looked in the direction the rickshaw had taken off and cursed under his breath. He took another gulp from the bottle. This time the liquor didn’t hurt much. He wiped his mouth with back of his hand and tried to pull himself up. But gravity seemed to pull his body down.

He drank some more from the bottle. He shook his head vigorously. Everything around him was starting to tumble. Cars, motorbikes and taxis zipped by him in slow motion. He gathered all his strength and pulled himself up. His knees shook, and the ground seemed to be moving. With both his hands spread wide in the air he tried to balance himself. In a few seconds he succeeded.

“Brrrrrr…” he shook his head again.

He waved at a vehicle coming in his direction the car didn’t even bother to slow down. His gaze followed the car’s dancing tail lamp.

“Son of a bastard”, he muttered.

He was shaking with rage, at the same time he felt helpless at such cruel turn of events. He knew he couldn’t do anything. He thought of going to the police station to lodge an FIR. He looked around and then smelled his own breath. His breath reeked of alcohol. He knew if he went to the police station in this condition to lodge an FIR against a man who claimed to be an honest cop he will have to spend the rest of the night in jail.

He raised the bottle to his lips again pushed his head back and drank the bitter liquor for some time.

“Arrrggghhh…” he hissed again, as the almost empty bottle came down from his lips and dangled in his hand.

Ramnik looked in both the directions. He saw an auto rickshaw coming his way. He tried raising his hand to wave but his whole body was revolting under the effect of alcohol. By the time he raised his hand the rickshaw had rushed past him. He looked at the bottle and decided to walk home.

He walked for sometime which seemed like hours to him. He felt his body reacting to his instructions in slow motion. Everything around him swayed. The red tail lamps of the vehicles passing by him revolved in circles before disappearing in the dark.

He raised the bottle to his lips but only a few drops fell. He shook the bottle over his lips anticipating more liquor to come out but nothing happened.

“Son of a bastard!” he cursed the bottle which he had raised in the air. The street light twinkled in his eyes through the empty bottle. With his full might he swung his whole body and let the bottle go.

The bottle flew in air, rotating like a grenade fired from a launcher. Ramnik’s bleary eyes followed the projectile which seemed to be flying in slow motion like every other thing around him. The bottle landed on the windshield of an auto rickshaw. The wind shield cracked and the bottle burst in to a thousand shards of glass.

The rickshaw instead of slowing down started speeding but it kept moving towards its left, it swerved a bit, tipped and then fell on its left side the engine died down with a loud groan. Ramnik watched the whole event unfolding petrified. Suddenly the streets were empty and everything was silent. He could hear the dogs barking again in a distance.

Someone’s faint moan jerked Ramnik to life again. He knew the moaning was coming from the rickshaw. Suddenly he found himself sober. He was still swaying but his senses had returned. Slowly he began moving towards the overturned vehicle, went around it and peeped inside. He was unable to say whether it was his own stink or it was the rickshaw that was stinking of alcohol.

He saw the driver was unconscious and his face was bloodied. The man in the passenger seat was groaning and slowly moving his head. The man seemed to be semi conscious. Ramnik’s eyes fell on a white cloth tied in a small bundle lying near the man’s legs. He looked at the man’s face, his head was tilted on one side, his nose was bleeding and his eyes were half closed. With his fleshy right hand he held the iron rod of the rickshaw above him, the gold watch in his wrist glistened in the dark.

Ramnik looked around the streets were still empty, a couple of cars had passed by without bothering to stop. Ramnik stooped inside the rickshaw and picked up the cloth bundle. He was about to get out when he noticed another bundle at the man’s feet. He picked up the bundle it was a wad of crisp five hundred rupee notes. As he pocketed both the things a car stopped behind him.

“What happened?” asked a voice, as Ramnik turned around. Two men jumped off the vehicle.

“Call an ambulance”, said one of the men. Another motorbike stopped. Some more people ran from the other side of the road towards Ramnik. Ramnik watched them in bewilderment. Men started to pull the victims out of the rickshaw. Ramnik slowly started to melt in the shadows.

“Are you okay”, someone asked him. He mumbled something and slipped out of the chaos. He started to walk away from the crowd as fast as his wobbling legs would carry him. A rickshaw slowed down beside him.

Ramnik looked inside the vacant rickshaw, “Goregaon”, he said. The rickshaw driver nodded.

Away from the mess now he felt a bit confident and asked “what happened back there?”

“Bewade log saab”, (drunkards sir) said the rickshaw driver and sped off.

You have been Vuvuzelaed.

Come appraisals and people start talking about the torturous corporate life. Of many things that they talk one thing is common in all the offices and that’s the ‘corporate bamboo’ or as my ex-boss used to pronounce it ‘bumboo’. So everytime she got it up her’s she would very gratefuly pass it on to us or should I say up to us. But I have a feeling that after this FIFA World Cup the ‘corporate bumboo’ will be replaced by the ubiquitous Vuvuzela.

The Coporate Vuvuzela. The word itself is so annoying that it will make people shudder. When a boss will call an employee inside his cabin who had just missed a deadline, the people outside would be saying ‘Oh the guy’s gonna be Vuvuzelaed today’. I was even wondering since Mr. Obama isn’t very keen on outsourcing and now that India is not the only hub of outsourcing jobs, the phrase ‘your job has been Bangalored’ will be changed to ‘your job has been Vuvuzelaed’.

One must be thinking why should the notorious bumboo which has been there ever since the corporates came into being, be replaced with something as new as Vuvuzela? Let me tell you:

• Vuvuzela, as wikipedia says, derives its name from the word ‘zulu’ which in African means to make noise and was invented in 1965. So its not as new as one thinks it is.
  
  
• The Corporate Vuvuzela (due to its shape) can serve a similar purpose with as much ease as the Corporate Bumboo.
  
  
• And while its being used the victim is bound to make noises though the type and source of noise in the case of Corporate Vuvuzela will be a bit different.
  
  
• And last but not the least it can be used by anyone and on anyone without much training irrespective of their age, sex, qualification or communication skills.

So once again its appraisal time. Some of the companies are already through with the process and some, like mine are still at work. So one can see people huddled in groups during coffee breaks and lunch breaks discussing who will get the corporate vuvuzela.

So when the boss calls me to hand over the appraisal letter to me he would say ‘Dude I tried very hard but you failed to impress us this time. I was expecting a lot more from you. But if you perform well next time I promise you, you will get a lot better raise’. So along with the invisible carrot I see something written on my appraisal letter, something which cant be read by anyone else ‘You have been Vuvuzelaed’.

An English Crush

(Submitted for Blogadda's "My first Crush !" contest )

Every time she pulled my ear, I fell in love with her, not because getting my ears pulled turns me on or anything, but because when she pulled my ear she would bring her lips so close to my cheek that I could smell the perfume on her neck and I believed that one day she would pull my ear and give me a peck on my cheek. I was 13 years old then, in the seventh standard, and no, I wasn’t getting my ears pulled by the female counterparts in my class but by my English teacher. Yes I know thirteen year old boys, studying in catholic schools, having a crush on their English teacher is a cliché but then that was how my childhood was, a cliché.

So there I was sitting on the last bench everyday, with my chin in my hands, looking at her face, dreamy eyes. From the moment she entered the class I would never lose sight of her slender body, dressed elegantly in a salwar kameez. I don’t know whether it was my imagination or the truth but every time our eyes met she would push a curl behind her ear.
Her brown eyes floated from face to face as she moved around the class reading us prose and poems. And when she passed me the whiff of her perfume and sometimes her duppatta grazing my cheek would make me sigh,”Oh! Teacher Sangeeta”.

I worked really hard in English, doing my homework, preparing the lessons diligently for the next class. Whenever she asked a question in the class I would enthusiastically raise my hand and when she looked at me and said “yes, Vivek what’s the answer”, I would go blank. This would make her really angry and she would pull my ear, which as I have already said I enjoyed.
It was Anu, my confidante in the seventh grade, who told me that women liked bold men. “When you mumble in front of teacher Sangeeta, it doesn’t look very manly”, she told me. I looked at her with my mouth wide open wondering how she knew so much about men. But then I realized she was a woman herself, so I thought she must be right.

I always hated it when teacher Sangeeta gave one of her brilliant smiles to anyone except me, and I always thought she did it purposefully to make me jealous. There was one person whom I hated the most and that was our physical trainer Mr. James. He was a tall good looking guy and whenever teacher Sangeeta would see him she would stop and talk to him. They both talked in whispers and she laughed at his secret jokes sometimes touching him on the shoulders or hands and that would make me wreath in envy. James in turn hated me too because I was never good at any sports. But I think he secretly knew about my love for teacher Sangeeta and was jealous of the fact that I might someday steal her from him.

Anu like everything else knew about the hatred I had for James. During recess we would both sit under the tree at the edge of the cricket field behind our school building and try to hatch plans to get James out of the way.

Anu once even suggested asking her cousin brother to arrange for some goons who would hide behind some wall near James’ house and beat the f*beep* out of him when he was walking alone in the evening.

“This would keep him in the hospital for a good whole month during which you would be free to woo teacher Sangeeta”, she said without blinking. And while she was suggesting this, all I could do was, as always look at her with my mouth wide open.

We (read I) decided to stay away from any such act of violence.

It was teacher Sangeeta’s birthday. Anu told me that I should give her a birthday card and a bunch of roses too. But I had only enough money to buy a birthday card, so Anu chipped in and I also bought a bunch of roses. Anu helped me write my feelings beautifully on the card and I told her that I would give it to teacher Sangeeta in the school. But Anu as always suggested otherwise.

“Dress up and go to her place in the evening, there you shall personally give her the flowers and profess your love for her”, she said. “But wouldn’t that be a bit bold. What if she didn’t like it? Wouldn’t she be angry at me?” I asked. “Don’t be silly, what did I tell you about women, they like bold men. She will melt when she will read those line and sees such beautiful flowers”, Anu convinced me.

So in the evening I dressed up, picked up my bicycle and pedaled to her house. As I reached near her house I saw James opening the gate of her garden and entering. He was dressed in a black suit and was accompanied by an old lady who must have been his mother. I stopped a few yards away from her house and waited for James to leave. After a few minutes a few more guests arrived. I knew teacher Sangeeta had given a birthday party. I saw Sumit come along with his parents. Sumit was my classmate and teacher Sangeeta’s nephew. He waved at me when he saw me standing at the corner of the lane. As his parents went inside he waited for me. I cycled up to him.

“Hey, did teacher Sangeeta invite you for the party too”, he asked. “Yes”, I mumbled, embarrassed. “You know it’s a surprise party. Nobody knows but my mother told me that it’s her birthday party as well as her engagement ceremony.” he said. I looked at him as if something had pierced through my heart and shattered all my dreams.

“Won’t you come inside” he asked again. I didn’t say anything. I turned around and cycled back to my home, the flowers and the card still in my hand. I found Anu sitting in the playground out side my house. I threw my bicycle went up to her, sat beside her and threw the flowers and the card on the ground. She put her hands around my shoulders and asked what had happened. I told her everything.

She sat with her hands around my shoulders as I hid my face in my knees. “Why do you worry, I am here for you”, she said caressing my hair. I looked up in to her eyes. She had tears in them. I bent down picked up the flowers and gave them to her. “These are for you, for being my best friend”, I said. She took the flowers in her hand, hugged me and then gave a kiss on my cheek. And as always I kept looking at her with my mouth wide open.

Killing The Pain

She smiled as a stream of blood flowed past her. It was over now and she gave a sigh of relief.

Memories of her 12th birthday streaked through her mind. She remembered it was her school’s founder’s day celebration. She had taken part in the ballet dance, and was proudly flaunting her white short skirt. She knew she looked the prettiest among all the dancers even her teachers couldn’t stop praising her beauty.

After the function was over, her uncle picked her up from school and took her to his home. He was a lawyer and had a huge farmhouse at the outskirts of the town that was the venue for her birthday party. She had always adored him for what he was. She had always admired him for his good looks and because he had always treated her like a princess.

When she reached there, the farmhouse was deserted her aunt and other family members were to reach there by late afternoon. She got down from the car and ran towards the swimming pool her favourite place in the house. She took off her ballet shoes and sat down at the edge of the pool putting her legs in the cold water. A few moments later her uncle called her inside the house but she refused to go. She was enjoying the feel of cold water and splashing it with her feet. A few minutes later her uncle came out and asked her to come inside the house. In the mood of fun she pulled him in the pool too and started splashing water on him.

Their clothes were wet. He looked at her from head to waist. Her wet hair sticking to her neck, her wet white dress sticking to her chest gave him a mad rush of blood. He gave her a weird smile. She had never seen him like this before. Suddenly he grabbed her with one hand and started pulling her into the house. Initially she thought her uncle was having fun and she tried to free herself but his grip was very strong and it made her feel uncomfortable. She requested him to leave her but he took her inside the bedroom.

She thought her uncle was angry on her of what she did to him in the pool. She begged for forgiveness fearing that he might hit her and pleaded him to let her go. Instead he threw her on bed and locked the door from inside. She closed her eyes afraid anticipating a blow from him anytime.

However, he didn’t hit her, instead he put something soft in her hand, she opened her eyes and the sight made her scream. Her uncle was standing half naked in front of her. She started screaming and crying. He slapped her face, ripped her off her clothes and pushed himself inside her.

The pain, the burning sensation, the blood were all unbearable. She hated him for causing her so much pain. The man she had adored and respected once, had become repugnant and filthy now.
He threatened her that if she complained about him, she would be dead. With time the physical pain was gone but the emotional pain and torture scarred her life permanently. Whenever he found her alone he would force himself on her and all she could do was unsuccessfully try to protect herself. She shuddered every time she saw him, breaking into sweats. But with time it became a dull pain which was there constantly at the back of her head.

She had lived the pain every single day for the last ten years until today when he forced her to serve his client. She had refused. This made him angry.

He had slapped her and pulled off her duppata, pushing her towards the man sitting in the corner of the room. She spread her hands to avoid falling down and her hands got hold of the spear which was until now an antique showpiece adorning the beauty of the room. The view had scared the client and he had ran off from the room while her uncle didn’t realise that his sin of last ten years was about to end

She sat in front of him with her hands drenched in blood, looking at him die. This was the moment she had always dreamed of since she was twelve. It took her ten long years to gather the courage, for a decade he had haunted her day and night, every morning she would get up with the fear of facing him and now she had ended that fear. He would no longer haunt her.

The Nation’s Enemy Number One.

Disclaimer: The names of characters and situations occurring in all of the stories in this blog are fictional and any resemblance to any person dead or alive is purely coincidental. The stories in this blog are only for leisure reading and the author at any point does not mean to make fun of or degrade, any nationality, caste, religion or sex in the story. If you think so, it is purely unintentional and the author apologizes for the same.

The Nation’s Enemy Number One.

Mumbai, Khulgayipoll News Desk, May 3, 2010

It is a proud day for the country today. The courts of justice have finally delivered their verdict. Finally truth has won, injustice and lies have been vanquished. It is being hailed as the victory of the people of India. The number one enemy of the nation Khatmal Pasab has been found guilty for the worst ever terrorist attacks which happened in the economic capital, Mumbai, two years ago and the court has sentenced him to death.

The government has been very angry about the attacks since it had once again proved that the country’s Intelligence system, had no intelligence at all. Hence the government wanted that the perpetrators be sent to the gallows as soon as possible. And now they have made sure that justice has been done. The court today passed the verdict declaring that the number one enemy of India Khatmal Pasab should be hanged till death.

On this great day our correspondents caught up with some of nation’s well wishers to get their priceless comments.

Our correspondent Ragda Patties met Bagh Fakade, at his residence, he refused to speak in Hindi or English but this is what he said and we translate:

“It is a great day for the common man of Mumbai (an assistant whispered “Sir Maharashtra”) and Maharashtra that this devil has been brought to justice. And on this auspicious day we declare that we will start a new revolution. We will ask all the television channels broadcasting on each and every television set in Mumbai (assistant from behind again “Sir and Maharashtra”) and Maharashtra should have their logos and names displayed in Marathi only. That is our tribute to the victory of the common man of Maharashtra (assistant from behind again “Sir Maharashtra”, Fakade turns around and gives him a ‘tichyaaila’ type look). I will request everyone to start the revolution from today itself. Jai Shivaji, Jai Maharashtra.”

Our correspondent Pehle Aap Mishra caught up with Behenji Kalawati out side a statue shop in Lucknow, and this is what she said:

“Pasab is a black mark on this nation. He is the enemy number one of this country and I am happy that the court has delivered the justice. It is a big day for all the Dalits and other backward casts of India. To celebrate this victory of the neglected lower casts of the country not only are we declaring it as a public holiday in our state but I have also ordered 1000 life size bronze statues of myself to be made and placed all over, to make our beloved state more beautiful .”

Our correspondent Sattu Jha from Patna met Baaloo ji who was shopping for some Rabri (a sweet meat made of milk and sugar) with his wife Dhibri Devi and this is their reaction:

“I have heard the news and I think this is a very good verdict in favor of the minority community. I think that the government should have CBI investigate the whole Pasab case again, instead of wasting its time in trying to find out which brand of cattle feed I use for my buffaloes. I am going to ask the government to start the family planning program again to celebrate this verdict.”

Our correspondents spoke to the minister of Twitter affairs Mr Haanchee Suroor but he said, “You will have to follow me on Twitter to read my comments regarding the verdict.” Our correspondent is following him on Twitter now.

Our Mumbai correspondent Ragda Patties also caught up with the Bollywood super star Sukh Dukh Kaand for his reactions:

“I am very happy today that now even the Indian court agrees with me, that every terrorist is not a Kaand. If Pasab is willing to change his ways I am ready to teach him acting so that he may act in one of my movies and fulfill the mission that he came for or if he wants I can ask my Dadaji to teach him cricket so that he may join my cricket team. Because you know I am the star, I am the best and my movies are the best… ” Our correspondent had to snatch the microphone away from him.

Our correspondent Koyla Gundi found the missing ex-chief minister Gadhoo Roda coming out of a seven star spa in Mauritius and asked him what he thought about the verdict.

“Dekhiye hum toh gareeb kisaan hain. Humare babuji koyla khadaan mein kaam karte thein. Humare paas toh chawal khareedne ke bhi paise nahi hain. Toh Newspaper khareed kar yeh sab cheez kaha se padhenge. Humein toh Pasab ka ek hi matlab pata tha (raises the pinky on his right hand). Humein jhoothe aaropon mein fasaya gaya hai.” (I am a poor farmer. My father used to work in coal fields. We don’t even have the money to buy rice then how do you think we will buy newspaper and read about these things. The only meaning of Pasab we know is (raises the pinky on his right hand). I am being falsely framed.)

Our correspondent Gend Ball Gilli asked the tycoon who has changed the face of Indian cricket Mr. KhitKhit Godi, but he was in a hurry because his chartered plane was waiting and we could only catch him saying:

“I am still the chairman of…”

These are some of the reactions that our correspondents have collected from the well wishers of our country. We have also received reactions from Gayapapita, Churnanidhi, Moyaamji, Marmar Jhing, Garda Pahar and hundreds of others from all walks of life who have dedicated their lives in the upliftment of the poor of the nation. They have all hailed the verdict of hanging the number one enemy of our country.