Diaspora

People moving here and there; leaving their homelands in search of happiness; the grass is always greener on the other side, and then the ego comes in; happiness they do not get, but they can’t come back either, no, they are not losers, they must stay and seek happiness yet, while they have a chance. Everyone dispersing, spreading; groups all breaking down into fragments by narrow domestic walls; people start thinking, and then they start over-thinking, making plans, reverting back, new plans, no, these won’t work out, something else then, yeah, let’s try this maybe; two weeks later, back to square one. Some confused, some exasperated already, some tired and longing to go back to where they came from, but now it is too late, and they must work towards their goal, for the goal is what is important, but they know they can’t achieve it, but try they must, and try they do; but they do know, that nothing’s gonna happen, but yet they don’t stop, for stopping might make them look foolish, and they are sinking, deep in their thoughts at times, and floating mid-air at other times, sinking, floating, drowning, catching a stick, coming up, going downstream, swimming against the currents, trying to reach the banks, for the banks now are full of silt, but no, oh no, they can see, right in front of their eyes, how the river floods the banks; now only desolate land, devoid of everything, a barren island, just like their hearts, barren, empty, devoid of feelings, and now they realize, oh, they did not want this at all in the first place, their hearts that were filled with joy and hope, they want it back, yet they have sacrificed it, and they don’t remember a thing, because their memories are so short-lived, and there’s a fire somewhere, but they’ll put it out later, and they remember bits and pieces, from long back when they were together, in another country, with other people too, oh, where are they now, and what do they do? And the fire is burning, red flames and yellow, orange flames and red, burning every single man and every single woman, yet they do not flinch, for how would they show that they were vulnerable, when the opposite is what they have tried to prove to themselves all this while; and the fire keeps burning, but it will go out in a while, for there’s nothing around that can burn anymore, already the ashes are working against it, and the ashes do fly, and the sky is now black, the air is now black, the wind carries the ash, to other desolate lands, with other desolate people, and in this process, they all meet, ashes and memories, joys and pain, the joys that were once a reality, now only a myth, only a dream, an unfulfilled prophecy, a crescent moon, slowly covered by clouds, yet there will be no rain, for the rain would quench the thirst all around, and that cannot happen, for happen it will not, because that is the will of the One, the One who created this diaspora.

Yet in the dark of night when the sky is black and black is the color that they all love because black is what they have seen forever, they dream and their dreams are wild and wild as hell but no one stops them for no one can, and why should they when dreams are the one that give them hope and let them live and stop them from gnawing into each else’s lives like rodents burrowing into a hole in the ground, removing the soil and getting into the skins of the earth, and here something is getting inside the skins of the people, something warm and they can feel it, oh now they are warm, but the heat keeps increasing and now they burn, oh look at them, from black and white, and brown and yellow, all their skins turn red, and they cling to each other, likes babies clinging to their mothers’ aprons, and they walk through puddled grounds, wary of falling, yet now they fall, from hills they fall, down into the vales, they tumble and they tumble, and the ground breaks free, and rocks now fall, crumbling into stones, and joining to form caves in the vales, and the people hide their faces, for fear of being scathed, their faces they hide, and they’ve done so at other times too, but then it had been for shame, for ashamed they were of what they did, and how they lived and what they thought, for thoughts they cannot control, and they creep in the midst of night inside the mind like tigers leering in forests looking for prey, and the thoughts encumber them and burden them and now the weight is too much and they need to get rid of them, but the parasites keep clinging, much like a baby, clinging to a mother’s apron, and the cycle continues, a vicious cycle, no one can come out once they’ve got in, and yet they still get in because it lures them in, like a black hole, sucking all their energy, pulling them in and making them its own, and look at them now, how they struggle, how they fight, how they battle among themselves, oh yes there is bloodshed, and how the blood and the fight made them forget of the heat that was burning them only a while ago, but the heat has now subdued, though some have been diseased by it, and some have recovered, but the change is visible, and now blood flows out, out of the cycle, and out they rush, all of them, racing towards the periphery, they do not care where they are headed to, as long as they are running, for all are running, and though they are out of breath, see how they run, and men are running, and women are running, running they all are, because their lives are at stake now, and they value it, see how they value it, and now they’ve realized that their battle was not against each other, but it was them against the One, and One against them, destruction trying to overwhelm their lives, but they are strong, and they cannot lose, and so fight they must, and so they fight, and they think they can win, and who can tell, for all you know, they just might.

2015

Hello people, and welcome to Black Rose 2015!

2015 is an entirely new category for this blog. It has a strict mission, and I am going to try till hell to make sure that this category stays the most awesome category for the entire year. So what is 2015 all about? It is about a new vision for this blog, a new theme, a new resolution, a new style of writing, a new pattern, but an old author nonetheless.

So what is the mission of this category?
The mission of this category is “Twenty Words a Day“. What does that mean for me? Well, amidst the busy schedule that I follow on a daily basis, writing long posts is getting a bit too difficult. Moreover, for a novice like one myself, inventing new topics and writing a lot of them without doing justice to the topic seems a little too boring. The aim of this category is one post daily, and the post can be anything, a picture, small talk, excerpt from my diary, anything under the sun, but I promise to write daily.

This year again, I intend to start writing posts relating to technology. While most of them would be related to my field of work, broadly coming under Computer Science, you might find some really good tips out there as a regular computer user yourself. Also, I will be posting actual chats that I have had with various people, back in the past, which I am sure will entertain you as well. I plan on reviving the Sketches category once again as well, so as to keep my small talents from getting rusty.

All the same, I wish you again a very Happy New Year. Stay tuned for new posts all through the year, and ask your friends to come along, sip a cup of coffee, and enjoy this ride of words and love.

The Bell

Written on December 7, 2010.

Never before had Bull felt the way he felt right now. His emotions swung left and right, and he was under a fix as to whether what he thought was eternal relationship came to an end just because of the love of one’s own life. As he sat in the cell, the king came along.

“So your dear friend hasn’t arrived as yet. Wasn’t I very sure of this! After all why should someone be so foolish as to come back to die once he has been given the chance to escape? Only because his friend believes in him? This is pure bullshit Bull, I told you earlier do not come into all this but you didn’t listen. Now you have to suffer. You have no other choice.”

And then the man rose his head. The king noticed, silently, how the slight curves on his forehead now smoothened, how a black patch had developed beneath his eyes as though he hadn’t slept a million nights, how the skin of the lips had cracked, and how wrinkled the face had become, as if he weren’t a youth but an old man, older than him. Diseased he is, thought the king. Slowly, taking the support of the wall beside, Bull rose up, stood on his feet and cleared his throat. “Sir, you are mistaken. There is nothing to suffer in this.” And he sat down again, curled himself up and was lost in his thoughts.

The king, too confident to argue, left.

Lost in his thoughts, Bull now remembered those moments of his life which he wished he could relive a million times. The house painted white, behind the hedges, the evergreen field on which it stood, the fan hanging on the beam of the roof of it, which he always wished would rotate faster. He remembered how in the cold winter nights he would curl up under his quilt, listening to his parents’ talking among them. He still did not forget that day, when he returned from school to see that the house wasn’t there anymore, only rubble, and he still didn’t know where his parents were. People had told him that they dies when the house shattered to an earthquake, but he never believed those. He knew his parents would return.

His thoughts then went to his school. It was a small four-room cottage, but it was there that he framed himself for the latter part of his life. He remembered the white and red striped paint on the front walls, and the cement broken on the interiors. He remembered how a mattress used to be kept in order that the room wouldn’t get dirty, and how he and Ross stole all of them. Ross. Yes Ross. His favorite schoolmate.

Ross, a dark-complexioned boy, taller than Bull, he thought, and a wry smile crossed his face, when he was reminded of all the fun they had together. Bunking classes to sit by the river, picking pockets of the travellers who passed by, telling people wrong routes so that they lost themselves, making paper airplanes and flying them in the classroom, never doing their homework yet always escaped the teachers’ scolding by making some lame excuse… and how they grew up together, never realizing that time passed so quickly.

His thoughts now wandered only around Ross. He remembered the lunches they had together at his house, when Ross’s mother cooked better food than any other lady in the world. What a sumptuous lunch they had always, though he always wished that his mother come back from wherever she is and cook him her food too. He too wished that he invite Ross to his house and that he ate his mother’s made food. Little did he know that people don’t come out of their graves. Ross’s mother was a kind lady. Short-heighted, yellow streaks on her front hair, she was always a little bent, due to her age he supposed, she wasn’t pretty, but she was beautiful. Her face was white, white as the snow that fell when he stayed up the hills, at an age of four, with his parents. Sometimes when they both would return from school, his mother would be just outside the door, sweeping the floors with a long broom. The broom had a long wooden handle, and he could still remember the exact picture of it. And she would be coughing loud, the dust causing it. And he remembered how Ross would take the broom from her hands, and ask her to go inside whilst he swept the courtyard, after which they had lunch together, of bread with butter and a glass of milk, the milk of the cow tied to the fence in the backyard.

And then the smile on his face turned to a dark gloom, and the curves on his forehead reappeared. It was due to what happened last week. Murder. Ross. Sentence. Thoughts flashed in and out of his mind. What apparently happened was that Ross had murdered the prince of the city. The reason for this was unknown to everyone. Ross did not share this even with Bull. But there was a rumor that it was because of the fact that both loved the same girl and that Ross was jealous of the fact that the girl loved the prince because he was richer. It was due to that that he had been sentenced to death. However, he had a last wish of seeing his parents before he died. But there was no guarantee that he would return once set free to meet his parents. That was where this man Bull came in. Ross begged Bull to stay in his place till he returned. The king put a condition that if Ross did not return within the stipulated time, Bull would be hanged instead. Bull had almost instantaneously accepted the proposal, he having so much faith in their friendship. But now, only fifteen minutes were left for the bell to ring, and he hadn’t arrived yet.

The bell rung. Bull was escorted to the place which was designed for the hanging. A large crowd had appeared. A sense of serenity showed on Bull’s face although in a few minutes he would be hanged for absolutely no fault of his. The bell rung a second time. The rope was put around his neck. Three. Two. One and… “Stop!” Came a voice from behind. He was huffing, panting and through his blurred vision, Bull saw Ross arrive. There was a smile on Bull’s face, a smile of faith, an eternal friendship, a relationship which had passed all limits. Amidst that smile, Bull’s eyes closed. “No!”, shouted Ross in the background. A loud applause of the crowd. Only had Ross been sooner by a second…

Quick – Finale – Chapter 9

Sometimes it seems you live a dream in its entirety.

The cipher the man gave was insolvable. I don’t even remember what it was, but it was well beyond my limits. I was no codebreaker, and had no course on cryptography when I was at the university. I tried to explain this to them, but they wouldn’t understand. Clearly, they had chosen the wrong person. Or probably they were mistaken. I have no clue, but I couldn’t give them what they wanted.

Ten days drew to a close. I had to pack my bags and leave. Just as I was about to check out of the hotel, I got another call.

I didn’t pick it up.

Two minutes later, the phone rang again. It kept ringing and I kept ignoring the call. They had all found out the truth.

Juliett Macber, just a name, that I had forged for her. She never knew that. She couldn’t. She had never seen her boss, only talked to him on a computer screen. The whole concept, built, tested by the same person who they were constantly trying to put on at the other end. But only I was, on both ends. I picked up the call.

“Hallo?”

“Sir, our client couldn’t solve the code. He says he isn’t used to all this. What should we do?”

I smiled. Laughed to myself a little bit. Probably they’d never know why I plotted this entire scheme, why I did what I did, and what consequences this would have. It would but forever remain a mystery to them, for they would never be able to talk to their boss anymore, nor to the client, both one and the same. All I needed to do was press a few buttons. Only a few buttons. They would all die. All of them. Terrorists. Trying to cheat the common man. They didn’t know the power that the regular citizen had. Yet they would feel it, now.

I pressed the buttons. Somewhere in the other corner of a city, a room exploded. A thousand Juliett Macbers died. And with them the story. That I did quickly enough.

Aadat 2

Raeth ke mehel banaa ke chain ab kahaan milega tujhe,
Jo samandaron mei doob ke motiyaan churaata hai.
Faqr se jeena tha aur ye kahaan theher gaya hai tu,
Ke aasmaan bhi tujhe bula raha hai, ja usse mil le.

Nadiyon ki dhaaraayein badal jayenge tu ik baar koshish toh kar,
Watanon ki seemaayein toot jayengi tu ik baar koshish toh kar,
Gaane kuch aise gungunaa, kavitaayein kuch aisi likh,
Ke jag aansoowon mei liptay agar, toh bhi saath mei liptay.

Kahaani adhoori hai jo, usay ek muqaam de kar ja,
Rehguzar ki tarah bhatakte aawaam ko, muqaam de kar ja,
Ke jitno ne ki iltija, rabb ne toh sab ki nahi suni,
Par jitne tujhse apni bayaan farmaate hai, unko muqaam de kar ja.

Sheeshe ke mehel mei raha tu, kisi ne phir bhi kabhi pathhar na uthaya,
Mehfuz jinke yaadon mei raha tu, unpe kisi ne aankh na uthayi,
Taqdeer mei likha tha kuch, kisi aur ko apnaaya tunay,
Khuda hai tu, ya insaan, tu hi bata.

Aadat hai mujhe aksar raaton ko sapnon mei udne ki,
Aadat hai mujhe aksar dinon mei khwaab bunnay ki,
Par tujhse mila toh yeh ehsaas hua hai mujhe,
Khwaab adhoore sahi, khwaab humaray toh hain.

Quick – Chapter 5

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Why the hell are you staring at me?”

“I am not staring at you.”

“Yes, you are.”

Silence.

“What about her?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Should I care?”

“I really think you should. Couldn’t you pretend this to be more of an accident?”

“I did. I am drunk. Isn’t that sufficient?”

“Do you think it is?”

Silence.

“What next?” she said.

“Nothing. We wait. Thanks to your foolishness, we’re done with one. Now we will have another.”

“You sure of that?”

“Oh yes. I have a feeling there are another thousand Juliett Macber’s in this deal.”

“So killing her was a waste of time?”

“No, just hope the next one who they send tell me more about what we are in. And maybe they’d open up a bit more this time. I don’t know. You had to injure her so that we could get things out. You freaking killed her.”

“We? You are into something. I am not. They don’t know me.”

“You sure?”

Silence.

“Anyways, you ought to leave now. It’s best that they think I am working alone,” I said.

“Yeah probably. I fear the consequences won’t be good though.”

“Yeah we will see that. They wouldn’t be good anyways.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, bye.”

Quick – Chapter 4

As I sat in the car, the phone buzzed again.

“A futile attempt, Sir,” said she.

“What?” I turned around to see anyone following me. No. No one on the street. “Are you following me? What do you want?”

“Don’t talk foolishly. There’s a GPS in the car. We don’t need our eyes fixed on you, do we? Did you enter the house?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Oh good. I should then let you know that we have your fingerprints on a cup as well as the key now, which places you at the scene without any doubt, in case something happens there. So please refrain from interrupting our plans with yours.”

“Who are you? What can happen at the house?”

“See you at golf today, Sir.” She hung up.

“Where are we going?”

“To Hotel Ganymede, Sir.”

“What?”

“Hotel Ganymede, Sir. I have been asked to drop you there.”

“Okay.” I wanted to know how in heaven’s sake golf was even remotely related to it, but I kept quiet. It seemed the right thing to do.

I sat back in the car, reading the local news on the tablet. The phone call was on my mind. I felt it was the same voice that had called earlier that morning, but the number was different both times. My thoughts shifted to the hotel. Ganymede. Named after the biggest satellite in the solar system. The satellite was discovered by Galileo in the 1600s, or so I had read. I imagined the hotel to be quite big and fancy, given it was named after the largest satellite of the largest planet. Fifteen minutes later, the car stopped. “Hotel Ganymede, Sir.”

I came out. By far, this had been the biggest of all disappointments. Ganymede looked more of a place where a guy would spend the night when he had an empty wallet. It was a one-storeyed apartment, with the entrance opening bang on to the reception. The reception had a desk, and there was one corridor ahead. The only corridor in the hotel. It had six rooms, three on each side, with the numbers painted in white on the doors.

“Mr…,” I looked at him.

“Zimmer Nummer fünf.”

“English?” He shook his head to a negative, then raised his hand and showed five fingers. I presumed he wanted me to go to room number five.

I knocked. The door opened, and there she was, again. So, I had been looking for her unaware of the fact that I was going to meet her. Okay.

“Hi, I’m Juliet,” she said, handing over her card.

I took the card and glanced over it. Juliett Macber. So Juliett had a double t.

“Hello, Juliett.”

“I know you really need some answers, don’t you? We have five minutes before we leave. So I think we have time enough for may be, one question?”

There was only one question in my mind right now. And probably if her answer matched what I was thinking, many more questions would be solved. “Why do you spell Juliett with a double t?”

She laughed. “Give it a guess?”

“It isn’t possible that you do so for French speakers, who may otherwise treat a single final t as silent, is it?”

“Well, for a starter, you seem quite intelligent,” she said with a smile.

And instantly, I realised what the whole situation was about. Everything was now clearer. It now seemed every bit had its own explanation. My coming from India, playing golf at Ganymede, and meeting Juliett. I had been skipping the old treasure for a long time. It was time I got back to it again.

“Why am I here? What are we doing?” I asked.

“Alright, time to leave,” she said.”Where are we headed to?”

“My apartment.”

“The real one?”

She smiled as we got back into the car.

“Talk to me,” I said. “What am I doing here? What’s the issue?”

“You want the long story or the short?”

“The short, for now.”

“We have a riddle to solve.”

“Okay, and?”

“That’s the short one.”

“No, I want to know the long story then.”

“Haha. Okay.”

“Tell me?”

“Yes, I am thinking where to start from. Well, to say, our decoders have been trying to solve it for a long time. They believe that the answer will lead to — Oh my God!”

A car from the opposite direction was speeding up towards us. A girl was driving it. Our chauffeur pressed the brakes harder than ever. No use. Bang!

The chauffeur felt it was his responsibility to inform the girl’s parents about her death. Meanwhile she kept staring at me, dumbfounded.