It was Valentine’s Day; I was expecting her call as every year. I was working on my new assignment when suddenly the phone rang. A wide smile ran down my face as I noticed that it was her. I was busy, had to complete my work but I couldn’t afford to miss this call, not for anything in this world. “Hello!” she said. Her voice was the sweetest thing in this world; I could listen to it all my life. “Ya, hi.” Even though my heart was jumping with joy but as soon as I opened my mouth to speak, no words came out. I spoke the lamest two words possible. “How are you”, she asked. I wish I could tell her that I missed her, I wished to meet her, “I’m good, have been really busy with the new assignments. The company has been putting a lot of responsibilities on my shoulder off lately but coping with it somehow.” I had to talk about work, to divert myself. I didn’t want to sound depressed. “That’s good. With great responsibility comes great power and money too!” I smiled; her sense of humor always amused me. “How’s it going at your end?” I asked. “Good too, not fortunate enough to be as busy as you, but scraping through. Have to strive a lot to reach your level.” I blushed. She always said that, somewhere down the line she thought of me as an inspiration. That was weird for me to understand but I let that pass every time. There was an awkward silence. Probably we both were trying to figure out what we should say next. I heard her gasp. “What happened?” I asked. “Nothing.” She said, taking a deep breath she continued, “How’s she doing?” “She’s good. Oh a moment of nostalgia! You remember how we celebrated Valentine’s three years back?” quickly changing the topic. “Yes, I remember. I miss you.” As well as she knew me. She realized that I was changing the topic and said the three words. No matter which tone spoken in makes one emotional. In this case, brought tears. “ I miss you too.” I had to admit that I missed her day in, day out. I thought about her all the time and prayed for her well being despite being an atheist. “What do you really like in her?” she had to ask this. I was very much in love with Naina and had to move out. I really didn’t have an elaborate answer. “I love her beta.” I just realized that I had made the biggest mistake. “You...” she gasped again. “You are not supposed to call me beta.” Trying to stop her tears, “You lost the rights the day you left mom and went away. The sad part is that I still love you. I shouldn’t, but I do. You are my father after all.” I was crying. I had lost all control over my tear glands and was crying like a baby when I heard the sound of the phone hanging up. It is unimaginable how powerful a phone call can be, in this case, devastatingly powerful.
Monday, 17 October 2016
The Phone Call
It was Valentine’s Day; I was expecting her call as every year. I was working on my new assignment when suddenly the phone rang. A wide smile ran down my face as I noticed that it was her. I was busy, had to complete my work but I couldn’t afford to miss this call, not for anything in this world. “Hello!” she said. Her voice was the sweetest thing in this world; I could listen to it all my life. “Ya, hi.” Even though my heart was jumping with joy but as soon as I opened my mouth to speak, no words came out. I spoke the lamest two words possible. “How are you”, she asked. I wish I could tell her that I missed her, I wished to meet her, “I’m good, have been really busy with the new assignments. The company has been putting a lot of responsibilities on my shoulder off lately but coping with it somehow.” I had to talk about work, to divert myself. I didn’t want to sound depressed. “That’s good. With great responsibility comes great power and money too!” I smiled; her sense of humor always amused me. “How’s it going at your end?” I asked. “Good too, not fortunate enough to be as busy as you, but scraping through. Have to strive a lot to reach your level.” I blushed. She always said that, somewhere down the line she thought of me as an inspiration. That was weird for me to understand but I let that pass every time. There was an awkward silence. Probably we both were trying to figure out what we should say next. I heard her gasp. “What happened?” I asked. “Nothing.” She said, taking a deep breath she continued, “How’s she doing?” “She’s good. Oh a moment of nostalgia! You remember how we celebrated Valentine’s three years back?” quickly changing the topic. “Yes, I remember. I miss you.” As well as she knew me. She realized that I was changing the topic and said the three words. No matter which tone spoken in makes one emotional. In this case, brought tears. “ I miss you too.” I had to admit that I missed her day in, day out. I thought about her all the time and prayed for her well being despite being an atheist. “What do you really like in her?” she had to ask this. I was very much in love with Naina and had to move out. I really didn’t have an elaborate answer. “I love her beta.” I just realized that I had made the biggest mistake. “You...” she gasped again. “You are not supposed to call me beta.” Trying to stop her tears, “You lost the rights the day you left mom and went away. The sad part is that I still love you. I shouldn’t, but I do. You are my father after all.” I was crying. I had lost all control over my tear glands and was crying like a baby when I heard the sound of the phone hanging up. It is unimaginable how powerful a phone call can be, in this case, devastatingly powerful.
Saturday, 5 March 2016
The Unusual
I was bound. My hands and feet were tied with an itchy rope. It left rashes but I could only see them and feel the pain. I wanted to shout and in fact I was shouting but all in vain. My mouth was very meticulously covered with a dirty piece of cloth which stunk. I tried my best every now and then to break my voice but couldn’t. There was a sharp, blaring light right in front of my eyes which didn’t allow me to see anything in front. I felt almost blind. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen darkness. At one point I wished that I die but then the curiosity didn’t let me die. Why was I here? Why was I put in such state? I was there for 7 days and I could not figure out why I was being punished.
The man was unusual. I should be using scary and villainous terms but he was nothing more than unusual. He had a crew cut and was clean shaved. He looked more like an underdog school boy. I always saw him in shorts, 7 days straight, he had never worn anything apart from shorts and a torn t shirt. From all I could notice with my weak eyes, it was that he had no hair on his arms or legs which meant that he was accustomed to pain. He wore a watch in his hand, always. Every time he came towards me to try and feed me I could notice that he had minor scars on his knees and his forehead. The pain in his eyes killed me every day. It felt like he wanted to end it, once and for all. It felt like he wanted to end it with me. And that scared me.
On the eighth day, I was woken up with the lights going off. I do not know when my tired eyes had fallen asleep. It was him, he was back. He had not spoken a word ever since he had brought me here. The last memory I have of a normal life is when I was walking down a lonely street to buy a few grocery items. I wanted to ask why had he brought me here but I couldn’t, he wouldn’t let me. Suddenly his phone rang; with my red burnt eyes I could notice a broken screen. He had not received a call from anyone but it was an alarm which had went off. He turned it off, put his earphones on and went near the mirror. I had no idea what he was going to do when he did something which was again very “unusual”. He started practicing words in an accent which sounded American. Why was he doing it? I had no idea why but I was astonished. It was irritating but it fascinated me. He was making fast hand gestures and speaking words from apparently a dictionary in his phone. For an entire half an hour he did it. I could see a sense of salvation in his eyes after he had completed this exercise.
I was so engrossed in the activities that he was doing that I forgot to struggle. And so I began struggling like a fish without water; I had no energy but applied all of it. I wanted answers, I was ready to be killed but I needed to know why. Finally he paid heed to my desperation and came near me. Just looking at me closely, he was lethally close. So close that I could hear him breath. My eyes pleaded pity, from him for me. But he kept looking at me expressionlessly for a few seconds before he took out a long, sharp knife and pierced into my neck right then. I was killed by him, brutally killed. I struggled a lot, wrenching in pain, did not want to die but died in three seconds.
“I feel that with every such dream, I am killing myself a little bit. Every single day!” said Sparsh. Doctor Batra, a young lady in her early 30s was quite taken aback with what she had heard, not that she was not used to it but it did frighten her every time, but somehow she maintained her cool and answered, “Woah! That was quite a dream, Sparsh! You are visiting for the tenth time, every time you have new stories to share but there is one commonality in them.” “what?” asks Sparsh, clean shaven in knee length shorts and t shirt. “Your stories always end up on a sadistic note. Someone or the other is killed, mostly being you. You are highly insecure about yourself. Keep expressing yourself as much as you can, staying an introvert cannot help you always.” Sparsh smiles at the doctor, gets up from his resting bed, prepares to leave and says, “Ambivert madam. That is what I would like you to call me.” Saying this he wears his jacket, chains it fully, puts his hands in his pocket and walks away. Dr. Batra kept looking till his figure disappeared from her vision. After he went away, she heaved a sigh of relief and picked up his file. It read, “A serial killer. Likes to narrate his murders as dreams in first person.”
The man was unusual. I should be using scary and villainous terms but he was nothing more than unusual. He had a crew cut and was clean shaved. He looked more like an underdog school boy. I always saw him in shorts, 7 days straight, he had never worn anything apart from shorts and a torn t shirt. From all I could notice with my weak eyes, it was that he had no hair on his arms or legs which meant that he was accustomed to pain. He wore a watch in his hand, always. Every time he came towards me to try and feed me I could notice that he had minor scars on his knees and his forehead. The pain in his eyes killed me every day. It felt like he wanted to end it, once and for all. It felt like he wanted to end it with me. And that scared me.
On the eighth day, I was woken up with the lights going off. I do not know when my tired eyes had fallen asleep. It was him, he was back. He had not spoken a word ever since he had brought me here. The last memory I have of a normal life is when I was walking down a lonely street to buy a few grocery items. I wanted to ask why had he brought me here but I couldn’t, he wouldn’t let me. Suddenly his phone rang; with my red burnt eyes I could notice a broken screen. He had not received a call from anyone but it was an alarm which had went off. He turned it off, put his earphones on and went near the mirror. I had no idea what he was going to do when he did something which was again very “unusual”. He started practicing words in an accent which sounded American. Why was he doing it? I had no idea why but I was astonished. It was irritating but it fascinated me. He was making fast hand gestures and speaking words from apparently a dictionary in his phone. For an entire half an hour he did it. I could see a sense of salvation in his eyes after he had completed this exercise.
I was so engrossed in the activities that he was doing that I forgot to struggle. And so I began struggling like a fish without water; I had no energy but applied all of it. I wanted answers, I was ready to be killed but I needed to know why. Finally he paid heed to my desperation and came near me. Just looking at me closely, he was lethally close. So close that I could hear him breath. My eyes pleaded pity, from him for me. But he kept looking at me expressionlessly for a few seconds before he took out a long, sharp knife and pierced into my neck right then. I was killed by him, brutally killed. I struggled a lot, wrenching in pain, did not want to die but died in three seconds.
“I feel that with every such dream, I am killing myself a little bit. Every single day!” said Sparsh. Doctor Batra, a young lady in her early 30s was quite taken aback with what she had heard, not that she was not used to it but it did frighten her every time, but somehow she maintained her cool and answered, “Woah! That was quite a dream, Sparsh! You are visiting for the tenth time, every time you have new stories to share but there is one commonality in them.” “what?” asks Sparsh, clean shaven in knee length shorts and t shirt. “Your stories always end up on a sadistic note. Someone or the other is killed, mostly being you. You are highly insecure about yourself. Keep expressing yourself as much as you can, staying an introvert cannot help you always.” Sparsh smiles at the doctor, gets up from his resting bed, prepares to leave and says, “Ambivert madam. That is what I would like you to call me.” Saying this he wears his jacket, chains it fully, puts his hands in his pocket and walks away. Dr. Batra kept looking till his figure disappeared from her vision. After he went away, she heaved a sigh of relief and picked up his file. It read, “A serial killer. Likes to narrate his murders as dreams in first person.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)