The Forlorn Music of the dead!

The little lady with a mole on her right cheek drawled as the candle-wick reclined on one of the old mildewed books at the corner of the shelf where Mr.Green was intently inclined onto the left side of an old newspaper dating back to half a century ,ruffling through the pages, shuffling for one information that had nagged him since childhood,” The Vineyard Fire” The mention of incident brought before him the caricature of an old hut, a little boy and the three young girls ,ages no more than ten and a damp music.

“It would be better advised if you will come again tomorrow to scavenge the library off it’s content Mr Green,it’s half past two and no electricity,thank Edison for the his invention” Mrs Bilone, an old lady, the librarian of the Grand Central Library suggested.

“Don’t forget Isaac, Mrs Bilone, and could you wait for another hour ! I’m almost there” He coughed and adjusted the square frame spectacles on his nose.Mrs Bilone yawned as she detested his obtrusive read.

The newspapers had a fading ink but that was what he could get his hands on, “The vineyard Fire”,the name repeated in his mind like a litany.

There, his fingers trembled as they hovered over one single heading

“Mysterious Fire Kills the Green family on a Rainy Night”

He sniffed and winced as he read the below paragraph that commenced with,

“There are no survivors left from the incident, three daughters and one son along with Mr and Mrs Green perished in the Vineyard fire.”

“No, this is false, I’m alive ,I still am and whose body did they find to claim to be mine” He growled and encircled his fists and punched the paper, the effort was vain,his nightmares would remain a mystery,he grumbled.music

“It’s time son, you need to return home”Mrs Bilone folded the scrambled papers, creasing them right and taking them back to their respective shelves, the dark alley between the books was the place for forgotten old news.

Mr Green nodded and trotted towards the exit, his memories warring with the logic.His nightmare recurred as he slumped at the exit.

It was a dark night, alike today, Mrs Green lighted a candle at the far end of the hall way while little master Defrey Green played with the wooden horse and his three younger sisters, the triplets giggled playing with the ragamuffins.

While Defrey played ,there was a whisper in his ears,first as a damp forlorn music and then a clear voice.

“Run,there will be a fire” an unknown damp voice spoke.

He jerked from the floor to look for the new unfamiliar eerie voice

“Mama…there is someone here” He screamed and ran to his mother who by now lighted two more candles.

“None, my boy,it’s just daddy from work” she condoled him and ushered him to bed.

While his three sisters were being pampered by his father, he felt a hand around the crook of his arms, cold,damp hands.It was raining heavily outside.

Defrey plunged towards the hall to the safety of his parents hearing the same whisper in his ears

“You are going to die, run” That was all he could hear and everything went dark,the wind from the sudden open windows blew away the candles.

“Oh, Light the god forsaken candles Sarah” Mr.Green Shouted as he could feel his daughters cringing from fear.

Defrey felt a pull, a pair of sparkling dead eyes stared at him

“I told you to run” said the cold whisper and before he knew, Defrey was thrown out of the window,to the street while his house burnt down inspite of the rain, it was as if the rain was harvesting the fire.

Mysteriously he found himself in another city,with a new identity but only he knew of the truth.None believed him,casting him away as a retard,years passed by and he never came to know of the reason,the whisper or the damp,wet hands.

Only the little lady with the mole who followed him everywhere knew, he was her son that the Greens had adopted after her death, her house and the riches were lived by the Greens while her son was made to toil in the factory,vengeance of her spirit made a beggar boy enter to rob the house while she pulled Defrey out of the house.She had ,with satisfaction burnt the house just the way she was burnt in the factory of the Greens,her vengeance wrote the same destiny to the Greens,her son Defrey Williams was himself a Green now and that she would bear!

Humming the lullaby she once sang for little Defrey ,now a forlorn music of the dead.She still follows with him,for a part of her,his eyes were hers and the spirit was attached to him and till today,he hears the same damp music but not the voice,she decides to stay silent.Reasons unknown,reasons that no one will ever know!


 

This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.

The Music of Death

The cemetery has no visitors today except for her, the day is gloomy, the skies thunders and warns of a heavy downpour, she needed to find herself a shelter but she chooses not to.The Cemetery spoke of the forgotten past and today’s tears.Clad in a black sober gown , with trembling feet and suppressed tears,she stands there with a bouquet of  withering flowers.She is overwhelmed with emotions as she stands in front of the grave that read.

Charles Thomas

1990-2005

“Our son who never left us and his presence felt in all that remains in the universe”

She sobs with fervent fits,a mother, losing a 15 year old was the last thing any mother would have wanted

“Oh Charles, here’s the gift for your 17th birthday” she wipes her eyes and keeps the volleyball near the grave.

The thunder claps resounds of forbidden gifts and closed gates from the other world.

Charles was 10 when he aspired to be doctor, also he aspired to be an astronaut the very next day and as days passed by ,his dreams grew. His heart pounded for achieving great things in life.Making his parents proud, he had won in all tournaments, topped in all the examination but then the cold-hearted time had other plans.If he was to live, he might grow up to find a medicine to cancer, he might find solution to survive natural calamities, he could do many more but death was jealous to have him grow and deprive the death’s part of lives on earth.music,death

Hence one night ,fate, destiny and death played a game of possession , Charles was returning home from tuition, the grade card and the trophy from today’s game adorned his hands , pride in his walk and gratitude in his eyes.He would show his mom his trophies, his grades. She would be so proud and probably she’ll buy him the piano he had been asking for, being drawn to music was a bliss in continuing his tedious journey of achievements.

Death played it’s game, the dice rolled to 2 and with his second step, Charles fell into an open ditch, fate played fair and Charles was rescued by a policeman who happened to pass by ,destiny calculated the risks and had him out with not a scratch on his body.

“Thank you Sir,That was close” Charles bore a smile 

“Such an young bright lad ought to be careful ,my son” The policeman patted his back and bid him a farewell.

Death smiled and rolled his dice, that of second warning , an injury.

A pot tripped from the fifth floor of the apartment under which Charles was walking,it was bound to be fatal, one hit on his head and that would be it! But fate sent in a dog to bite Charles who missed the pot but had a bite from the stray.

He winced in pain, 

“There it goes, I need to get vaccinated now, I will invent a medicine ..”Before he could complete, a truck swaggered and ran over him ,over the pavement and hit a telephone pole.

That was destiny’s turn, it wasn’t fair, death had rolled the dice, cunning as it was, hungry for a life, his life.Succeeded it traveled through the crowd to the body.He was taking his last breaths, blood streaming from his head, had he not escaped the pot, he wouldn’t have this gruesome death,Death grimaced.The boy was locked int the grotesque body and he whimpered for air, for water,for life.His dreams were crushed, as the people helped him out the pavement, Charles heard his own skull break, his own blood suffocate his throat and his own heart thumping vigorously for a way out.His vision blurred and he saw Death clad in black and grey.He would see his mother, he wanted to make her happy.His last wish.

 In the meanwhile,the ambulance was rushed,  Rebecca Thomas wailed and cursed the death.He smiled viciously at her, everything was going his way.

Two years later

Death watches over the wailing mother in front of her child’s grave,how could he tell her the soul had departed and keeping memories intact was a gruesome effort, the thunders synced with her sobs, the winds howled at greater speed and for the first time, death felt a stir.

He comes down and moves the volleyball in front of her.Rebecca gasps and staggers, was it the winds or her eyes deceiving her but no air was playing with the ball.She smiled and thanked.

“Charles” she whispers….

Death touched her and she instantly dropped dead.

Albeit death has a heart of his own, stirred by deep emotions and every soul he carries with him leaves behind a scar on his body and the scar that Charles had left behind had Glowed ,Charle’s last wish of making his mother happy was fulfilled but it came with a price,her life, death had no choice!

That is the music of death.


 

This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.

The Navigation of My Voice

The nigh sky of the early dawn was comforting,my day hasn’t really begun,with a smidgen of smile that seemed astruse to the winds which started howling around me, flapping the windows and caressing my hairs coaxing me to reveal the secret behind the smile.The navigation needle seemed to comply with my thoughts.I reached to the end of the terrace gently touching the single rose that had bloomed amidst the thorns ,beauty that was ,none to defy it’s warm swivel of velvety turns.

I wish to know the sounds,of the different chirps of the birds, the flow of the water, the cry of a baby, the thud of a coconut, a scream of the helpless, the howling of the wind, the voice of mine!

I never had a voice, I tried to,many a times, there were deep vibrations down my throat but none that I could could hear, none that I could make of, people spoke to me with thier hands,I’m not that dumb enough that you have to go with sign language desperately.It is funny to watch someone new communicating with me, speaking an alien language with hands, pitying my plight with their sober eyes, pretense most of the time but they tried and made fun too.It was all a part of the world I live in,I am deaf and dumb.navigation

Absence of sound played an havoc in my life,vehicles reached me instead of their honks, once when a bike took a detour and hit me hard, I thought I had lost my life, the excruciating pain was immeasurable but that was just the start and I had recovered from tiny scratches and hand-fracture,it was then I had realized that I was being protected even from the tiniest needle.My parents wailed and cursed to god for my loss but loved me more.Back then I couldn’t comprehend the reason, I thought that everybody was born deaf and dumb until I realized it was just me.

I started studying, I started knowing sounds, feeling things, they felt so good and real, wouldn’t it have been better for me to hear them out too.Oh I so wish I could.As days passed by I realized that I was special,not that anybody made me feel special but it was a lame word given to people like me.Handicapped seemed rude to their humanity stricken hearts.Less did they know that we weren’t much different , yes I couldn’t hear but I could make out right from wrong, know the difference between fake and real,I ain’t gullible and I’m trained in martial arts too,I could cook well,those tantalizing taste,I wish I could hear the spices cluttering and listen to the blows of the whistles, it could have given me time to breathe but alas, this journey was exhausting yet beautiful in it’s own way.

I watch movies with subtitles, I communicate based on body language, my family understands me even in my sleep, so not everything is bad, there is a good side to being deaf , I don’t hear people with vicious thoughts, I don’t ever get affected by noise pollution that the everyday newspaper carries, only texting is paramount in using a phone, I get lots of time away from gossips and indulge myself in books.So yes I am special ,I believe that I am not because you define me.

And that’s the secret behind my smile, the winds hush down assertively at my thoughts.I was in no need of navigation on my path of life!


 

This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.

Humorous Peppy Time

I have this hollowness in between my ribs right now, choking from within, I had lost the days hard work, sitting in for three hours at the office and getting things done, an award comes my way ,of irresponsible tag and the dearth of proper evidence for my case-study.

Lord, take the computer away.No spare it, I have movies in it, take my boss away, oh you hate him too,I can understand, his personality is not of peppy types and friendly nature.Probably his genes might have the traces of Hitler in it. Yeah whatever my job sucks and you know it too well.

peppy

I didn’t ask for it! My thoughts travel at the speed of light going back to the time of placements.

Oh god..please get me a job, get me placed and I’ll come to visit you in two different places, clout my chances ,some job, any job” 

I grimace at my plight,Oh yes it was me,well no matter what I asked for, you knew what was best for me, you could have sopped, led me to the shimmering path of gold and a red carpet,I’m your child you say, you must love me enough.

“Gagan…”

Oh just take me out of this forsaken job.

“Mr.Gagan T” a gruff malady voice shook me up.

Oh crap, My boss!

“Yes Boss…I was ..well” I choked my own words in an attempt to create a story.

“You are fired” he declared and left with a simmer of rage.

I looked up at him, god now you are taking my words seriously,yes I wanted an out from this godforsaken place and you let me have it…get me all the good things,you give me a ride rough shod.Always!

It was done and I wouldn’t go behind my boss now, absolutely no pleading.

There was a call from mom

“Yeah mom,tell me,how are you?’ I ask her in an exhausted tone

“You tell me, how are you,what happened?’ her voice was like wrapping a warm blanket on a cold winter night

I narrated her my lucrative job and my conversation with someone called God.

“You asked him to get you a job from all of your heart..”

“Yeah more like pleaded”I interrupted

“Let me finish and you badly wanted an out” She waited for me to respond while I waited for her to finish.

“Answer me” She gave out a thunderbolt

“Well yes, I badly wanted a way out”

“There..everything came to you because you badly wanted it, turn your thoughts, focus them into badly wanting something good in your life” she was my psychiatrist,manipulating me.

“Oh you got me wrong, god is hell bent on making my life worse” I plopped into my chair.

“Listen ,my child, the universe is huge , it gives you what you ask for?What you badly ask for, you need to risk everything in the game and want something badly, dream it, visualize it and live it, your thoughts are a fact, it’s a real thing and the most powerful thing in the world” She sounded so accurate and right.

I gave a smile, it was time for gratitude,thank you for blessing me with this woman in my life.

Just then my colleague sarah passed by

I looked up,

Bless me with that woman too, I badly ask you!

Somewhere up in the skies ,god sighs and glosses over the matter

“Men will be Men”


 

This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.

The Graceful Impact

Growing old was a nightmare since I was a kid, questions like “Would I die when  my skin gets twisted ” was a constant worry ,I used to hold conferences regarding the same in a small group of teddy bears when I was only six that triggered my parents to take me to the psychiatrist to overcome the morbid thoughts of aging process .Oh it did work, a graceful impact.

I can barely remember my days as an young,exuberant child parading the roads with my rogue friends late into the night.We were a classic band with healthy smiles and recurrent giggles.

It’s been a while since I went back in time ,pondering over the differences in my life, if I had chosen anything different, probably even ordering a pizza instead of an ice-cream would have altered my choices and time.The placebo effect that I had played on my kids remind me of my mother.I smile in the mirror, an old wrinkled lady smiled back at me, she resembled my paternal grandmother with grey hairs, slouching body and calloused elbows.

But the eyes were different, chocolate brown as my mother used to put it,I had often heard her say to my father that I was the apple of her eye , as a kid I wanted her to take me as the mango of her eye, mangoes were my Favorite.

impact, oldage

A small tear emerges from the dry eyes with the reminiscence,I have come long way,I stared at the comforting mirror , my nose was a bit crooked as I had fallen face-to –floor an year ago,my son had panicked and had me wheeled into the hospital and had my surgery done.It was only then realization striked me hard about the body aging!

The hormones weren’t on my side like they faithfully used to,over time they had freaked out and hit my body with less appetite and a surge in weight.Doctors advised me to never quit dropping kilos.I started my regime with walking and other lame exercises .Getting back to normalcy with diabetes was a distant dream but definitely a possible one.

I wanted to age gracefully as my husband put it.He was in a distant place,I wondered if the grave would be warm enough, the wind was freezing cold, my remaining teeth chattered and my body shivered ,I was old, I had to remind myself and grabbed a blanket to wrap around myself, with slow and steady steps, I leaned to the open window, any images of lustrous hair dancing to the tunes of the musical wind was warded off, all that remains now is the grey bundle at the back of my head.Whoever told that this was graceful.

“Mom, what are you doing up late?” my son’s tenor voice zapped me from my graceful thoughts.

“You know oldage and stuff” I muttered on unintelligently

“Deprived of sleep?” he wrapped his arms around me,gently pacing me back to my bed.

“Do you want me to read you a story?” he asked with a shine in his eyes as he tucked me into my bed

“A lullaby would be nice” I suppressed a small giggle, afterall I felt young

“Sure” he sat beside me and tapped me to sleep, his tenor voice whispering the same old lullaby that I had sang to him and his sister!

I was aging gracefully or am I dying gracefully, my heart relaxed and I went into deep slumber, the cold was unbearable,it was time to join my husband in the warm grave!


 

This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.

“What can books do, Naren? Listen to music, you get the kick” Robin, tapped on the books with a rhythm all the while exploring the sounds emanating from the hard bound old books that were finding shelter in Naren’s protective clutches.

“Cut that out! Books and stories give me the kick, you know.I visit places, I meet people and I know them all !” He retorted with a flare.

“You are sick! You need a psychiatrist buddy,imaginary friends and places  leading to the whole maze of delusions and illusions” Robin was at his humorous best.

“Cricket and games.”Everybody turned to the source of the sound ,they gave him a long awkward stare.

“They give me the kick” Arjun stretched his impediment body that wasn’t of any help stuck in the clutches of Harminder, trying a new trick from WWE.

“Girl-friends and booze should give the actual kicks, what weird kicks are you talking about?” Harminder intruded the erudite conversation by twisting Arjun’s feet by now.

music

The small gathering of what is called as thick friends gave out a snorting laugh.The four individuals somehow tied with a bond of friendship sat under the bridge, their place of serenity, where each one of them could escape the intrusive eyes of the strangers and judgments of the kith and kin.

Above the bridge was a total different world, people who never paused, never observed nor never acknowledged, lost in the infinite loop of the life’s needs, jobs and money.The four friends liked the moving vehicles and moving clouds above them.they were beyond everything, minds, creative and fresh.

A tiny stream flowed down the bridge accenting it’s natural beauty,with lush green surroundings and the damp sand with the waters fell into their definition of beauty and bliss.

The appealing beauty of the place and the privacy it provided away from all the chaos and commotion, it was their world under their bridge, the talks ranging from the girl next door to the galaxy that lay thousands of light years away, their talks made it to all the relevant and irrelevant topics thus broadening their perspective.Trousers rolled till their knees and faint music from the player that Robin carried had it’s charm on their funny dances and fighting clouts!

“We are going to be scattered after college remember”Naren stared into the endless skies.

“Yeah, it’s going to be a hard time ,leaving this place, and the luxury of time”

“I’m going to miss the girls” Harminder yawned “But I get to see the new ones” He smirked

A few meters away ,something plopped into the waters, the current was swift and the scene on the bridge became chaos with screams and shouts, someone had just fallen into the waters. All four of them exchanged glances, it was Robin who dived in first followed by Harminder.

“My baby” The lady’s excruciating screams wrenched their stomachs, they swan swiftly to the area where they had thought a stone had been plopped but instead, the waters were clean devoid of any trace of the child.

“I can’t find any kid here” Robin gulped in some water and a fit of coughs continued.

“Follow the flow” Naren and Arjun were running parallel to the waters on the  banks.

Harminder sucked in a sack of oxygen and with a fleeting moment swam in the direction of the current followed by his friends on land and in water.

After what it seemed to be like ten long minutes, they realized that the child was tethered to a branch of the tree that was stooping dangerously, any moment, the branch could snap and with it the kid might go out of reach.

As if heavens had blessed, the kid was awake , it’s little body shaking with sobs and frantic cries.The help was near by the time they detached the kid from the wood and passed it to the people on boat.

They were celebrated and the town had their name inscribed in the registers of the local award of bravery, they got a book each!

“Now I’m really going to miss this place, people know us now” Robin and Arjun synced their words.

“Stardom huh?” Naren pointed out

“Exactly” Harminder purred with glee and thrust the book to Naren’s hand and so did the others,laughing all the way to the place under the bridge.

The times would fly, the days would pass and years would roll, friendship would remain in the warm clutches of time.They would meet again, like in old days with music playing under the bridge.

Naren read the last sentence of his novel sitting in the train leaving for Mumbai from the small town in North Karnataka.The would meet again, he smiled and clutched the book closer to his heart, he had three more copies of the same book in his bag!


 

This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.

The Music Under the Bridge

The Wanderer’s Navigation

A wanderer from the medieval age goes about singing hymns of the philosophical roads.Navigation to the wandering souls,his only goal. Roads that are betrayed of real destinations and often meandering us to the paths that aren’t for us, that isn’t worth it, yet we cross our paths, confused, messed up with our own assumptions and judgement about everything under the sun.

Clad in a black robe and messy undone hair entwined into a series of ropes, his words laced with wisdom attained, devoid of proper education but only the wisdom that he has lived with, woken up with, enlightened with, departed with  from luxuries and attaining the blessing of the goddess of knowledge, he goes by with a stick, old with wrinkles asserting their rightful freckles all over his calloused body.

Yet there seems to be a charm with which he taps the earth, with which he gulps gallons of water from the pure waters that flows and you can see him blessing the new born with his slender stick and sing from his throat.navigation

The Navigation Song

Sober are the roads, plethora imbibed

Walls built are grotesque, navigation explored!

Strings the heart with a thread to the brain or is it otherwise.

Inside us remain our souls, struggling!

Cooped up in our own Prison.

Only seen is the status of the dreams

Where did the actual dreaming go?

All of us drying up in the heat of our own suns

A sun that captures our soul,

Cooped and fried in our own illusions.

Rise before it’s too late

From across the skies, the hefty assignor

Decides your fate and destiny will Play

Regardless of your consent

Perish is what will happen with your dark thoughts

Meandering the ways, before it’s too dark

Let your destined path be brightened

With the wisdom of the old and new

With the fresh and dry

And there you will find a way from all these miseries

Know not how to tell you that people have lived

Turned into dust with passing time

So will you, the only difference

Is about what you tether in your hearts

Let it shine with love and prosperity

Towards the human kind.

You are not the only one here; there is greater power, greater destiny and the greater hand called TIME.

And so the wanderer goes lost in his own thoughts playing the wand of navigation to the civilizations!

His words are a constant sting into the king’s ears, for he lived in utopia, a world that was real only to him, built from the tears, from the sweat of his people.Those people who respected him, people who pledged to serve him, people who bowed in his presence, people who he could whip and yet be blessed. The wanderer was a threat; the wanderer was to be hanged, for his words, for his songs that were enshrining the formative thoughts of the era, those that never held importance in his rule!

Complied to his orders, the true life was strangled and  suffocated ,cooped up in the powerful hands and what nobody could know was of the birth of new life in the palace while the wanderer breathed his last entombing the free ideas! Before his soul could fly, he smiled knowing his destiny, the king would be perished and the kingdom would be saved, he was the heir now! With power, he would change the boards of life of the dark shadows.


 

This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.