Desdemona

I vividly remember the day she came to me - she was suffering and the moment I saw her I understood her ailment. I had seen it before and I knew her end was near.

She walked in haughtily into my consulting room and told me she was Desdemona. I asked her what’s with all the paint on her face. She said she was a dancer, a performer. She travels from town to town, dancing in front of the crowd, taking care of her old mother with whatever she collects.

I told her what she knew already. She was calm. I told her that another patient with the same problem is waiting inside the room. It was a cat, a tomcat. 

It was a seed, a seed which penetrates your limbs and grows inside your thighs; grows into a full grown thorny plant inside you, killing you from inside. There was nothing anyone could do about it.

I saw her the next evening - her body along with an old woman’s, floating in the river, like a tableau in a carnival. Her face was still painted, her eyes - her eyes were staring at me. She was still that performer she always were. And, it is the same face I see every night in my dreams, making me wake up every single time, drenched in cold sweat.

Retaliate!

The wait, the spray of the night and the clinging heat

The rain was the best camouflage

The sweat, heat and the raving thoughts

The talk was the best cover-up

You me them others and you

The revenge.

The moonlight was never special

The songs were never romantic

The heart was never mentioned

The deed was the thread

Hope was the weak link

The murder.

The night was always welcome and food was a luxury

The days were always a blur

The sounds always a shelter

The door was never there

The bell never tolled

Island was built

The plan.

The stage was yet to be set and the lights were never on

The audience were dispensable

The skin was costume deep

The script had only the last act

Euphoria

The play.

You me glory and mishap

Hope and destruction

Island of gore

Euphoria

Desire and Death.

Of Auto-wallahs, Samosas like Olappadakkams and Bisleri bottles!

I should have taken a lottery ticket today, but I didn't - I took an auto to the bus station instead. The second time in the fine and a half years in this city I got a auto-wallah who is not a thug waiting to steal your money! Not a bastard, not a son-of-a-B but a decent auto-wallah! I sure should have taken that lottery ticket.

Published with Blogger-droid v2.0.1

Sea sand breeze moon (and some ants and a few crabs)!

Sleeping in the sand till ants and crabs started crawling near and on our body; running from one cliff to another, trying to find out a secluded but so so beautiful Paradise beach; sitting in a shack trying to figure out if to stay at this crowded but safe beach - there goes the flashback on my first morning in Paradise beach, near Gokarna.
A couple of weeks back, a friend of mine said, he is going to Gokarna with a couple of his friends. That they are planning to hike and trek from Om beach to some beach which is not accessible by road. I said, heck, I can't take so much running and climbing on a holiday. However, a week later I joined them in the trip.
We reach Gokarna in the morning, roamed around the small village centre, then started to Kudle beach around noon. We reached the beach, had a swim and then proceeded to the next stop - Om beach.I was getting tired, indeed.
Om beach was a short stop and personally I so did not want to go to the next place. But didn't want to be a spoilsport. We started hiking trekking (again) - all short treks, but I am no fan of physical labour!
We reach a small cove, the half moon beach as it is called. Didn't stop, we proceeded to our ultimate stop - Paradise beach. We jumped from one cliff to the other, it was getting dark and there was no beach to be found. At one point we reached a high cliff with no way forward. I said, dudes there is no way forward, we can put up our tent here. No, we back-tracked, found some trails and carried forward.
And, hey, we reached the Paradise beach. But what we found was the remains of couple or more shacks and no way forward and it's already dark. While we were pondering over what to do now, we saw someone flashing a torch light in our direction. We found that was the owner of one of those erstwhile shacks and his friends.
So we camped some where on the remains of a shack - when the other dudes ordered food, they brought some for us too.
We had a bon-fire, we had songs, we had the beach and we had the moon. 
(And we had the ants and the crabs, which I had mentioned before.)

Dilemma.

Being a gun expert and choosing a gun to shoot yourself with is much like a surgeon trying to find the right place to amputate his leg. It’s either too crass or too subtle; too strong to too feeble; too loud to too pussy. A noose is like acknowledging one’s incompetence in one’s profession. Three months is too long to be thinking about such a problem. But then again, it should not matter - it’s the last and most important decision in his life. The bus reached his stop and he snapped out of his thoughts.

And thus I reached Agumbe.

Whenever I do something I always tend to add a pessimistic streak to it. I always say - What's the fun if everything goes off smoothly! But then that was me being pessimistic. Then again, I grew up, I stopped believing, I became less superstitious. But, still, that part stayed with me. I still do believe, that there is no fun if everything goes off smoothly.

And that was exactly what I had in mind when I was an hour into the bike trip which I started with not much of a plan, but only a rough one; one place to start with - Agumbe, and couple of other if time and my lazy mind permits. (I am not joking, that thought did pass my mind).

Everything went fine and smooth for quite some while. The start was good and early. I got out of the city soon enough. Weather was good; sky was cloudy, but rain wasn't near. The roads were marvellous and I was enjoying the solitude (yes I was, indeed). I stopped - moved - stopped. And contrary to what I thought, the gap between subsequent stops was increasing. I must tell you, it had been a while since I rode a long stretch on my bike; so it did surprise me that I was able to go for longer stretches without any breaks.

Now, about my bike. It's an old (think 1982) Royal Enfield Bullet. And, it's the first time I am taking it for a trip alone. I had no plans in Agumbe, I am not much of a trekking enthusiast. For me, I just wanted to ride alone, somewhere far. So there I went.

The places, the routes were all wonderful. I had a map with me and the names of the places en-route. Once in a little while it would drizzle a bit, then it would go away. 

The roads were bordering 'excellent' till it reached Bhadravathi. After that they started deteriorating. But as if to compensate for that, the view started become exhilarating. It was awesome. The valleys and occasional winding roads - not quite ghat roads, but beautiful ones. Couple of people asked for a lift at occasions, which I was happy to oblige.

At about, 30 odd kilometers before Agumbe, it started to rain heavily. I carried on for a while, but then thought I would stop for a while. That I did. Then I found that the rain is not going to go away, so I started again. But not so fast. The bike didn't start. Just like that. I kicked and kicked and kicked. I rested and then kicked again. It spluttered and started, voila! I didn't know why it didn't start at first, but I didn't bother.

Well, that didn't last for long, because, the bike stopped mid way, this time in front of a house. I started the ritual of kicking it again (and again (and again)). The dude from the house came down and started offering advice. And it wasn't bad advice. He brought it my notice that there is some smell indicating that there is some problem with the fuel mixture. Then I noticed that the air filter breather pipe - the rubber bellow - has broken. Don't ask me how, but it was indeed broken.

Usually, it is not a problem, the bike should still run. But, it was raining heavily and it was pretty cold. Maybe that added to the problem. The bike did start after sometime and off I went after thanking the dude. It did go for another 10 or so kilometers and when it was just 2 kilometers more to reach Agumbe, it died again.

This time, all the kicking and thrashing didn't start the bike. And I was in the middle of the ghat road with maybe another hour and half of daylight. I started pushing but then found that it's not going to happen that way. Couple of vehicles went past, without stopping. I first showed the thumb, then the arm, then I threw myself in the way. They stopped, offered empathy and left.

Then again I tried pushing. Didn't work out. Two young ladies were coming down path and I asked them how far is Agumbe. They gave the answer I already knew - It's far enough for not practical to push the bike all the way. But they did do me a big favor - they waited for the next vehicle to come and stopped it for me. It was an auto-rickshaw. The guy was reluctant, but I used the 'Brahmastra' - I begged. He obliged.

I locked the bike, took my bags and went to Agumbe. I bought some insulation tape and brought back. The driver dude helped me plaster the pipe. I tried to kick start my bike. It didn't start. So we were left there wondering what to do. At that moment, there came a goods auto, which was returning after delivering milk. He stopped and we three put the bike inside and off we went to Agumbe.

Thus me and my bike reached Agumbe.

P.S. :- Agumbe was an awesome experience. I stayed at the Doddumane, basking in the hospitality of Kasturi Akka, to the sound of incessant rains, in the beautiful and majestic old house where the Malgudi days was shot. 

Like I always say, what is the fun if everything went on smooth and fine.

Eden.

    In here, they see us how we want them to see us. In here, there are no fixed faces or personalities. In here, names are nought but naked placeholders. For today’s superman might be cowering in front of you tomorrow. Yesterday’s sweet-heart might be a killer today. In here, we are all pure.

Merry-gone-around!

Round and round and round. It went on again and again. It was impossible to get out of it. Nevertheless, I tried again. Needless to say I failed.Nevertheless, I tried again. It was impossible to get out of it. It went on again and again. Round and round and round.

“Child is grown; The dream is gone!”

He had less than a day more to go but he has left a lot to do, to see. But, the colours have already started to dim. He knew that the end was near. But, he had to do one more thing for sure. He had to go to the first garden and check the fruit tree. He had to make sure that there was no second fruit. He reached out his hand up the canopy. At that very moment, everything started dissolving away. He grew up.

Breaking News.

It was getting late and tiresome, but he had pending work. He could see the dawn breaking already, but he was still at yesterday’s task. And, then it came - the 39^th vehicle of the night, a car. He hastened and turned to sit in place and opened the newspaper to the place he had stopped and started reading the paper from where he had stopped. By the time the car had gone, he finished another sentence. The car was gone now, so did the light too. He sat down and started waiting for the next vehicle to pass through the winding ghats.

Acceptance.

They remained on the floor, long after they stopped making love. A sense of enlightenment; of freedom was compounded by their fatigue - And they remained entwined like that forever. It started raining, drops started trickling in through the thatched roof. Nothing could wake them up from that seemingly never-ending sleep.

By evening she woke up from the trance. She looked around, found her dress and purse. She then took out the money she was paid in advance the previous night and kept it on the table. She turned around and glanced at him and left the room without waking him up.

Departed.

“Professor, why are some of these graves, missing the cross over them, unlike the most others?”, asked one timid looking kid.

“Son, those are the graves of the ones who committed suicide.”, answered the old man.

“Yeah, they don’t keep the crosses over them since their souls are all muddied”, said another equally looking kid.

“Who taught you all that rubbish?”

“Me grandmother told me so.”

“Well, no offense my dear, but I am afraid your grandmother should be a ruddy fool to believe that!”

“Then why aren’t they there?”

“Well, the question must be, why are they there on the other graves, on the first place, on the graves of the so called ‘faithfully departed’? They are there to prevent those souls from trying to get out of their resting places. Well, the ones who committed suicide, now they wouldn’t be trying to get back to the place that they took pain to get out of, eh?”

“Hmmmm,that does make sense, doesn’t it?”

“Of course it does!”

Blunder.

You spent all your time smiling.

All but you,

All but you were busy travelling,

Across.

But you,

You spent all your time smiling.

Thinking of unheard of whispers,

Whispers that might be.

Whispers that you wanted to shout,

Across.

But all were out travelling.

But you,

You spent all your time smiling.

You heard them come.

You heard them go.

You knew.

You knew those who were gone were taken away.

Yet,

You spent all your time smiling.

You started whispering,

Shouts.

With time, you started shouting.

But they were all gone travelling,

Taken away.

Yet you,

You still spent all your time smiling.

Superstitious.

The wake up alarm pierced through his dream. He woke up smiling. He didn’t remember much of his dream but he was sure it was a happy dream. And he almost already knew that his day was fucked. But what he didn’t know then was that this was his last day.

He smoke his first cigarette of the day in the toilet and took his shower. He checked the mirror and thought twice about shaving and then decided against it. He went back to his seat and waited for the warden to call for breakfast. That was when the bomb blasted.

He had never thought of escaping, even once. The jail-life was part of his resignation to the fate. But when one finds the whole jail in chaos and a huge hole in one’s cell’s wall, the only thing one cannot think is about not running away.

There is some reason why the jail dress is in stripes of black and white - and that is because it makes it terribly conspicuous. And that might also be the reason why zebras are supposed to have a very high reproducing rate - so they say!

He had never been to a college in his sane life. But that was where he went right away. He went there and exchanged his jail uniform for a normal looking t-shirt. (Whoa dude! Real jail dress! Cool! O it’s ok, you can keep the cigarette pack.)

He then went to his old boss’s place. He was surprised, but was happy to have him back. (Half pay jobs; desperate jail bird.) He was told to take a day’s rest and come back the next day.

With the money he got from the boss, he went to his regular bar to down a couple of drinks and get a girl perhaps.

The alarm bell rang and he woke up. He didn’t remember much of his dream but he was sure it was a happy dream. And he almost already knew that his day was fucked.

Purgatory.

“A man dies when he stops dreaming. The time of death is when he stops dreaming and not when his heart stops beating!”

“So what happens when his heart stops beating?”

“Well, hmmmm, yes, see there are two kinds do people, all right? The ones who were already dead, as they had stopped dreaming - they are already dead- and the dreamers, their hearts might stop drumming, but they would continue dreaming. And in their dreams they keep on living. And that my son, is the difference between heaven and hell!”

King Size.

“The Federal Ministry of Health warns that smokers are liable to die young.”

He read it and gave a smug smile before crumpling the empty pack and throwing it away. Warns? What are they, seers? He took a deep drag and started to cross the road. He didn’t see the huge truck until it was almost over him - he forgot that in this country they drove on the wrong side of the road. His last thoughts were - well he didn’t have time for any.

.

How could someone change something in one’s life without inevitably changing oneself? How would someone ask anyone to change a habit of one’s and still be expected to be the same human being? Still, everyone barks - ‘Change is inevitable!’

Let us take a person; let us call him ‘x’. Let ask ‘x’ to change one small aspect of him; one small habit of his. Let us monitor him and then let us conclude that he is better off with that small ‘bad’ habit of his gone down the drain. Let us hope. And let us hope that he is still ‘x’ and not ‘y’.

Let us all change one small thing in our’s a day or a week. Let us constantly monitor ourselves and let us hope that we are getting better with every day, every week of our life. Let us truly hope.

So what are you gonna change in yourself and in your life today? What Am I gonna change in me and in my life today?

And there was light!

“Honey, the phone is ringing!”

“I can hear, I am not deaf.”

“Could you please answer it? Oh, wait, it is a fax. What is this, see darling, some weird drawings!”

“It’s Hebrew, dumbo. Hey, it’s from heaven, then it must be something important.”

“Hell, I hate to work on Sundays. Switch on the printing machine, please, hon. It seems like they need at least 6 billion copies.”

Recap.

“You know what, you know what?”

“Hmmm..?”

“You know what, I forgot!”

“You know what, you know what?”

“Hmmm, yeah?”

“You know what, I forgot! Hey, I got you again!”

She got pissed off, got up, dressed and left.

Infertile.

Infertile.

The stone has been lying there for years, eons to be precise. Then one day they cleared ground, found it. They cut a big piece out of it. They started chipping it, polishing it. One might think this might have hurt it, but it was a stone, it didn’t have any feelings. But given a choice of gender, it would have been a she. Well, let us give it that gender and call it a she from now on.

So they chipped her, polished her and made her a huge penis. They took her to a huge dark room, pour butter, ghee and milk and anointed it and escalated it to the status of the God. She was a huge penis, worshipped and praised, but still a penis.

Years and years went by; but compared to her age, well let us just say it was just a couple of seconds to her. The dark room was holy, but dark, so bats started inhabiting it. People came; they anointed her; more years passed.

Another day came in another age; some other people attacked the holy house. They got inside the dark room. They took her out. They cut her out out of her holy seat. They chipped and disfigured her and threw her out in the wild; Not the same place where she was originally found, but still in the wild.

So there she was, a chipped penis! What good would it be, one might think. But then, she was always infertile.

Are you happy? Or are you just having fun?

Happiness and fun - how do you distinguish them?

We were having a chat yesterday, me and my colleague, how even small things used to make us happy when we were kids! Even if it is a cricket match in the evening, or a small trip to the nearby town,  a visit to the relatives' house - it used to make us happy! And there is no sane explanation for it.

Yes, we do go for trips, we do run around, drink smoke loiter watch movies, but then it has lost it's charm, is that it? Is it that we are now used to it? I still remember, how excited I used to get, when a prospect of watching a movie, in a theater comes along! How a rain used to make me happy!

I look about and I see that I am having fun, I am enjoying most of the moments, but happiness, it is something different - to quote my colleague - Anything everything used to make me happy when I was a kid! But now a car a bike a house a job a good salary, thats fun to have, but happiness have eluded us! Maybe it gets tougher to make ourselves 'Happy' as we grow older!

To be or not to be!

Seduction as an art was popularized by here Great grandmother. Her mother was the first chair-person of the single mother’s club. Yet she was now afraid to admit the fact that she was pregnant.

It wasn’t so easy, as every one said.

‘She is the best mother one could ever hope for!’, they say! But she was the only mom she had, so she can’t gauge. In their privacy as mother and daughter, she might try to probe, Maybe when the kid is born, then there might be lesser ambiguity.

It isn’t so easy, as every one says!

Thendan.

Thendan.

“We were coming after the second show. It was pretty late, but then there was moonlight streaming in. We were four of us in two bicycles. I was riding the cycle with, Rajan or was it Madhu who was sitting in front. We passed the turn after the Government hospital when suddenly Madhu (or Rajan) screeched something. It wasn’t that legible but he was asking me to stop. He was hysteric. When I asked him why, he pointed his chin towards the road in front of us. Then I saw it. It was sitting with its back towards us, it heard us and turned its head to us. It was only as big as a kid, but had a huge head, with pointed ears. And it let out a demonic laugh. I knew what it was, I have heard stories about it. All of us had a sudden impulse to turn around and run. But, thankfully, we didn’t. When you see a Thendan we are not supposed to turn our back to it. We are supposed to walk backwards, always looking at it. We dropped our cycles, somehow, Raghu on the other cycle, also had the presence of mind to do that, we slowly backed off till it was out of our sight and then ran for our lives. Next morning all of us woke up with a terrible fever, which lasted for 3 days. Those were the days, at least 30-35 years passed. Those were the days!

Yeah, Rajan could never get that incident out of his mind, I believe, poor guy. We were so close, all the four of us”

“I really was not in a mood to watch any movie, but Madhu insisted. So we went and while coming back we found this Thendan on the road. It is not a devil, it is a lesser one. It won’t kill you or attack you. But,the moment you turn your back to it, it will bounce like a ball and somersault backwards and attach itself on to your shoulders. It will hold tight around your neck with its long legs. Some say it becomes invisible when it attaches itself to someone. It will never let you go, never, till you die. That won’t be long too. I haven’t known anyone personally to die like that, some say they die early, they have heart-attacks!

Well we were fine, but Rajan was never the same.”

“The movie was good I remember, and this Thendan story, I am not sure if it’s real. See, it has been 30 years or so, and it was late night and dark, not a bit of light. How can one be sure? What I remember is that the other three were backing off and startled as if they saw the devil himself. I just followed suit.

No, I don’t remember having a fever; as a matter of fact, I never fell ill during my younger days.

No, Rajan was never the same, he never came out of it.”

*Thendan is a village superstition of a small kid like nocturnal creature which jumps and attaches itself to any person who turns his/her back to it.

The Veil.

I used to gaze at her - though through her veil it was only her eyes that were visible. And I used to wonder and dream and wish that she might be gazing at me too. And like clock-work she used to be present at 8 in the morning in the small road that goes in front of my room and I just have to raise my head to see her.

He is there. The cigarette is still there, and he looks as tired as any other day. I wonder if he recognizes me; Is there anything that I am entitled to show to the outer world which is me? The veil from the tailors, the kohl from the local shop, the perfume from the same place? I wonder and dream and wish that he can recognize me! And somehow I have this feeling that he does recognize me.

What would she be thinking? Will I ever recognize her if I find her un-veiled? I am in love with her, but what am I in love with? What do I know about her? Well I know she prefers blue eye shadows. I know she has at-least 7 pairs of shoes. I know she loves Jasmine. I know her left eyes twitches more than her right. She has beautiful eyes and I know that she is aware of the fact that she is beautiful.

Is it a taboo to think of him; of his lips; of his careless hair? Of his cigarette? Of him!

What would it be to make love to her? How would she be naked? Would the rest of her as beautiful as her eyes? Or is it that her eyes are like any other eyes, just that everything else being veiled gives it the beauty?

Persepolis - Marjane Satrapi.

The book is about the plights of the protagonist in the Muslim conservative regime in Iran. She speaks how the religiously blinded authority made the life of women (and men too) highly difficult. Now when you look at it, isn’t it the same in India too? Women are highly oppressed here! Now there is another dimension to it - add religion, now you have got everything!

To quote an idea from the book, If God wanted women to hide their hair, he/she would have made them bald! I had a friend in college, who had to wear a veil since her family forced her to. The first year of the college, she used to wear it; but slowly she ended up wearing the veil only when she is going back home. 

I am some one who does not believe in God. The religion, in my arrogant opinion, should only be a solace, for the one's in need. When it becomes a weapon for oppression, it should be uprooted. There is no evil larger than the one which is spawned in the false name of God. There is nothing barbaric than forcing ladies to wear a veil, to consider them lesser souls.

India as a country is growing economically. But as a society we are going back. In my state Kerala, I see more women covered from top to bottom, than 5 years back. And if one is foolish enough to believe that they are not doing that out of compulsion, then one is a hippocratic bastard with crow shit for brains. 

Wanderlust.

Gypsy girl longed for a settled life. She had enough of the wanderings. She wanted a warm bed and a nice roof over her head. She started a liking towards dark clothes.

She found herself a house; she bought a bed; started setting it all up. And it was only the third day evening that she got it all settled. Tired, she went to sleep. She slept for ages. She woke up and took her bag and walked out. After a while, she remembered she had decided to settle down in a house. But she was already two or three towns away from her house.

Amnesia.

Nothing is forgotten. No one can ask me to forget something, can they? Even if they can ask, why would they think that I am gonna forget it? Even if I say Yes and meant it, would it be possible to forget something like that? Even if it is possible, wouldn’t it be going in circles since wouldn’t I have forgotten that I would have forgotten everything? Or would I have forgotten how to make things forgotten?

The Kite.

“The higher you fly, the more you see. The more you see, the more you wanna travel; it’s the same for men as well as kites - Keep that in mind. Also, know that you loose only the best kites, because it takes a very good kite to soar so high that it’s ambition wins over our strength.

The boy bought the new kite and started walking back home. The kite-seller’s advice though was supposed to make him feel better about loosing his favourite kite, he was still sullen. He cherished his kites. He loved flying kites and thought of them as his friends. When the kite is flying high, he feels connected to it, he is exhilarated. It is like the kite is his eye and the string is the nerve connecting him to it .It is not just the kite that is soaring high, it’s himself.

That day he went to the terrace early and took out his new kite. Since it was new he didn’t know its name. He loosened the string and let the kite out. It took to wind amazingly fast. It soared higher and higher. The kid flew it for hours and hours. He finally understood what the kite-maker said. But this time he didn’t wait for the string to break - he let it go.

Madman.

Every town has a Madman. Every town I know has one and he had his privileges. He can enter any house, any time. He can grab that piece of meat from your plate. He can peep into the bathroom when the ladies are taking the shower.

Nobody cared. In fact everyone cared. They always reserve an extra piece for the Madman every time they made something special. Ladies took bath in such a way that the Madman could see more with less effort.

Our town too has a Madman; or should I say had a Madman? Our Madman died a week back. He just died. Nobody cared; some even said they were relieved.

But slowly they started missing him - not him; they were actually missing the ‘Madman’. The piece of meat lay uneaten. Ladies stopped taking bath in the morning. That’s when the town council decided to elect another Madman for the town.

There were many applicants. Why wouldn't there be? Free food everyday. You get to watch ladies naked and what more! I hope that they will select me this time.

The Plot.

“It is definitely an issue.”

“How can you be so sure of that? We don’t have the slightest of proofs, do we?”

“Don’t say we - you may not have, but I, I am sure. I know it.”

“How? This is not a simple thing, my dear. You cannot just assume and act; given your position and the consequences, the wide consequences, mind you!”

“I know. But can’t you see that if we wait for the proof, the time, the chance will pass. And it will be too late then. It is a decision which has to be made now.”

“O dear, don’t be so hard on yourself, please!”

“I know - I hate my job!”

“Yeah! Being a God or a Goddess is a tough job.”

“So whom do you think, that we should support - Raaman or Raavanan?”

“I would say Raavanan, he is so sexy!”

“Then he shall die! Raaman will win. I have spoken!”

Epilogue.

It was the Royal Priest’s turn now. The chief of ministers had just left now. The priest was an old man and he was against the use of violence in all his public speeches. The Kid thought for a moment that maybe this man, this man who is always smiling, might let him go free. But it wasn’t so. He thrashed him; he even poured some hot coffee on his face. Next came the commander of the royal army. The last thing the Kid remembered was hearing him saying - “How dare you humiliate his highness! How dare you shout that the Emperor is Naked!”.

Athiest.

The Dog was expecting a piece of fresh bone that day. He had become little too old for the rubber bone and had also started hating the dog biscuits. He always yearned for that piece of dead rat outside or that piece of meat stolen from the butcher. Not that he had tasted any of these, but this knowledge came with his genes. His parents would have planted that thought into his genes, which would again had been planted into his dad’s and mom’s by his grandparents and so on and so forth until that particular canine who had been a free dog or at least had a chance to have experienced some of these adventures. 

Again that is what his parents told him; that’s the common belief.But the dog did not believe in all those, he was an Atheist.

Across the River.

8:45 p.m.

He has 15 minutes to complete his assignment. It is not a tough set to finish, but he should not waste even a second. He took out his book and got with it.

8:55 p.m.

He was done with the home work, but he decided to wait till 9 before starting with the procedure. He knew he was not going to turn back; he had decided to do it.

9:00 p.m.

Time to start. Took out the paper and pen and started writing the note. He had decided on the contents long ago; in fact that was the first thing he had decided.

It was a short note, nothing melodramatic, matter of fact note. No remorse no pain nothing.

9:10 p.m.

He took out the syringe and the vial of Mercury that he had obtained from the lab. You might think he had to hide these, but he had absolute privacy in his room, something which his parents were really particular about. He had read that since Mercury is thick normal hypodermic needles won’t help. He had done enough research on this. He injected himself with it.

9:15 p.m. +

He switched off the lights and lay down on his bed. He had read about the effects of Mercury, but he had decided to write down symptoms as and when he was going through it. His lips were getting heavy. His eyes were starting to droop. He could no longer write anything.

** There was a news about a teenage boy’s suicide in Kerala more than a decade and half ago. The boy was a perfect 10 - be it academics, relations or extra-curricular activities. He had no known love affairs or failures; family was well to do. No domestic issues. Nobody knew why he committed suicide and why he chose Mercury. I hope he got what he wanted.