28 February, 2014

Shattered Spectacles

From the Author:
It is great to know that you all have been following this blog for so long. Thank you for you support. 
It is notable that the blog has got over 1000 hits now.(A mark which people reach very quickly, unlike me.) 

But there are 2 important things that I want from you now.

Please refer this blog to your friends who may be interested in such short stories.

The other is, please comment on how the story is. Even if it is a negative one.

Thank You.
Enjoy your Reading.

The city was still in the grasp of the dense fog that had settled during the night, as Ram walked past streetlight after streetlight, prepared for another day of fight. He reached the place of work and with droopy eyes, fighting the sleep that was waiting to take over; he started arranging the desks for students to use.

It took some time and then students would start pouring in for the class. A strong aroma of flora filled the room as a girl entered. He left to take care of the attendance. On passing a boy, he noted the raw fragrance arising from him. As the boy disappeared into the class, Ram smelt his shirt. A tinge of stink filled his nostrils. He shook his head vehemently. Making a mental note to buy a 50-gram detergent, he sat down with the attendance register.

Broken Glass

Students came in trendy and fashionable outfits. He was counting the legs that passed him to note the number of students who attended the class. He could not get himself to look up at them. Realizing the shabby and worn out clothes he wore and not to mention the slippers, holes of which he covered with his feet, he classified himself in a different league.

Soon, the class was full and the teacher had arrived. As the class began, Ram walked into the room and listened to the impartations of the professor with a giant eagerness. His eyes narrowed and ears widened as he tried to decipher every word he heard. He was poor in English.

Ram heard some chatters in the room. Two boys started chatting with disrespect to the man who was talking. Ram turned his head to have a look at them. Walking towards them, he signalled to maintain silence. His comments went unheeded as the boys continued their activity. Their persistent murmurs made it difficult for Ram to understand what was being said. His old dreams resurfaced.

He ran outside and sat near the stairs. Ram’s eyes were red waiting for the water to breakthrough his eyes. He covered himself mildly so that no one could easily find out what he was doing. All his dreams had shattered the moment he started to work leaving his studies. No one came forward to help the orphan to pay the fees to continue his education. His dream of being a doctor had burnt and slipped through his grasp as smoke would.

Salty waters from the red eyes stained his cheeks. The harsh reality of life had hit him hard, pulverizing his vision through the spectacles of dreams. The shattered spectacles of glass was unrepairable. He had come crashing down. With just a high school certificate, showing his brightness in studies, he was accepted only for menial jobs. He had accepted defeat at the hands of the money-driven society. He was poor.

And here he saw rich people wasting their lives gossiping and chatting despite being offered the priceless chance to study. They seldom appreciated the precious opportunity they had been offered. He wiped the cheeks dry and turned around to find the two boys who had been talking come out of the class halfway through. He inferred that they had been shunted out of the class.

It was as every day. He was left crying by people who never understood but abused their expedient positions. They neither enjoyed their privilege nor helped others like him.

After all, he was just a high-school dropout in the eyes of the society.

---THE END---

17 February, 2014

Suicidal Instincts

Every country has laws. Three laws are constant among all. All nations. All men.
  • Man shall not kill any other man.
  • He shall not kill himself.
  • He shall not put in danger the life of another man.
The three rules of human existence. More like the three rules for robots that science fiction harps on.’

‘Any man, when asked, concurs with the piety of the view for the greater good of humanity and world. Synchronous terms they are, world and humanity, for them. But it takes a deep mind to spot the actual…’

FingerPrint Editions

The waitress’ emergence disturbed my flow of thoughts. An espresso it was. Double. Quite sour, actually. The dark drink flowed over my tongue, through my mouth and I felt it passing through my oesophagus. An effect of pure science. The taste buds were activated. Brain received the signals from them. And a sour taste I felt, that of the coffee, on my tongue.

It was just a signal from the brain. All it needed was an alteration in the brain to make it taste sweet. Placing the cup on table, I looked into the Chinese cup with stern detailing given to the artwork, at the five-star hotel. I preferred my evening drink at the restaurant rather than at the sober room of mine on the third floor.

My mind drew itself to the thought that I had left behind before as I started relishing the sapid taste on my tongue.

‘With those rules in mind, men are born, they live, or more precisely, exist and die. The only exception to these rules is the state. The government. The law. It alone reserves the right to kill a person. The real reason for prohibiting murders and suicides can only be understood upon keen analysis of the same.’

A couple came in making a little too much noise between their intimacies. Their happy and smiling faces assured that they were ignorant of the travails of the world. A nerve of mine twisted as I tried to look at them. It only made my mood worse.

‘People just don’t kill others directly. Their actions kill many indirectly. What wrong did a person born in Africa do to suffer all his life despite the hard work put forth by him all through his life? Not many among other nations can live a day doing his work and feeling his pain. What great deed did a person born in a developed nation do to live his whole life in luxuries that escape a hard worker in the third world? Isn’t there even a single person in the developed nation who doesn’t deserve the luxuries he has been bestowed with?’

‘Why should this man in Africa be in the dark about the technologies of the developed nations? Why do not nations share their technology with other nations? Is it because they are afraid of other nations overtaking them and becoming supreme? What do you do when you come to that spot? Number 1. Push over the petty nations for money, land and oil.’

My hands were trembling as the thoughts poured without a break. The waitress walked past my table looking deep into my heart. The poor woman must have felt cheated. The chances that she guessed my intentions were too negligible. The coffee in my hand had spilled. I took the tissues placed on the table to wipe it off and continued.

‘Why isn't there any substitute for oil? If the amount spent to extract and then convert crude oil into petroleum had been invested on research, many new alternatives would have existed. Some greedy capitalist probably lobbies for Oil Companies, so that they all remain wealthy. After all, weren't there people who produced arms and induced wars among nations to make profit in the Century of War?’

The cup was empty and the waitress came to clear the table. I asked for the bill and stared around the restaurant. There were few takers for the morning breakfast in this part of the world. At least at this hotel. Not many had come down to the restaurant. ‘War.’ My eyes fixed over a photograph hung on the wall of the restaurant. The photo showed a big zeppelin with some description below it boasting the massive machines men had built while it should be signifying shame.

‘Billions have been spent on war and armaments to kill people while the amount spent to keep people alive in the third world is alarmingly negligible. Despite an international body to uphold peace, love and peace have become almost non-existent. Many people envy their neighbours and plot against their co-workers. Who bothers about that unrelated anonymous person standing next to you? Who bothers about his survival and sufferings? If we are not bothered about this person, why would we be bothered about that poor person in an anonymous country in Africa, Asia and America, who earn not even a single unit of currency a day despite his hard work all through the day?’

‘A person in Africa earns not even a dollar a year, while in developed states people's entertainment costs runs over billions. Millions are being spent on a sports star. Isn't a life in Africa worth even hundred dollars an year? People are happy to spend in thousands to watch a sport at a stadium but cry the hell out of their lives to give something to another man. Countries are ready to spend millions for space exploration but they are crying to spend to save the world from pollution. They are crying to spend even a small percentage of what they spend to destroy the Ozone. Doesn’t this ultimately equal to people killing others?’

The waitress produced the bill. The coffee was blasphemously dear. Selling price, at these high profiled hotels, are so high mainly because of their brand value and image despite their poor quality and taste, yet people come here to have one, for the non-existent entity called ‘Status.’ I took my wallet out and placed the tender of the bill with some tip for the waitress as customs demand, for her shrill look at me moments ago.

‘Money. People have fought, killed and committed suicides over these unworthy notes of paper and fibre. Such innocent looking artefacts, these things make or break a person. Selfish people still make up most part of this world. Some realise it and some do not realise it.’

I checked my pockets for the room key and proceeded towards the lift. It was at my floor. Boarding it and pressing the button, I noticed the couple beside me glaring at me. They probably had not brought a paper and pen with them for an autograph. I couldn't smile at them. I just proceeded as soon as my floor came.

‘It is for this same reason that people put barriers on murders and suicides. Selfishness. What will happen if the person murdered turns out to be the next Einstein? What will happen if the person committing suicide finds out something so precious that it would save the world? People. Always expecting others to help others and themselves. They are seldom ready to take up the mantle and support others but critique every person who comes forward to help.’

‘In the end, they all say that no man has the right to end life but knowingly or unknowingly they do just the same and kill others and force them to commit suicide. So much for living in this world.’

As I opened the door to my room my mind wavered over the decision I had made.

‘Maybe I should try to continue writing. It might affect the world.’

But another voice lapsed over it. ‘No. There is not much you can do now. All that is left is for you to die. Better sooner than later. Such a high profile death will surely rock the world. All thanks only to the last literary award.’

I walked into my room and fell down on the bed. Red stain spread over the pillows. I closed my eyes to sleep resting assured that the media would take care of things from where I left. A sleep that would take me past all the agony and the travails of the world.

(quite literally)

Thank you all for your repeated visits. I have taken a long break from this blog but your continuous readership makes me to continue my works. If not for you all, I know not how my life would have gone through the changes it has gone through.

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