Taima

 

Michael returned home from a long journey. He was in Africa and Australia for a month- in African jungles and in stony deserts of Australia to be precise. And all that he brought back was a tiny vial which contained the venoms of a Black Mamba and an Inland Taipan-  the most poisonous snakes of Africa and Australia. 

He was exhausted from his travels but excited and eager. He opened his journey-bag and  took out the vial and placed it on his desk. The vial had passed through the securities at the airports undetected because of its small size. He opened the vial. It had no smell. Perfect. He removed a small bottle from his desk. The bottle contained a small gas-like chemical which he had developed himself in his lab. This chemical was developed for the longevity of the venoms Michael had explored and brought back with him from Africa and Australia. He put a drop of it in the vial and closed it.  The mixture turned purple, red, green, yellow and finally with a hush- white. This was the most toxic and poisonous chemical ever created. If stung, it would bring down the biggest of dinosaurs , if they were still around, in a second. He watched the solution for a minute or so, thought, and named it Taima - Taipan plus Mamba. Oh! My creative raja!

From another drawer he took out a small purple box.  He opened it. On a dark blue velvet cloth was a pin - the flying pin, again created by Michael. It had all the ingredients of a super computer chip in the shape of a pin.  It could fly at the speed of light. And, would be controlled by Michael. Michael smiled. It was his brain-pin. The evil smile finally spread over his face. 

There was this tiniest latch on the pin unseen by a naked eye. Michael switched on his laptop. A few clicks and punches, and the latch opened with a hiss. He opened the vial. Slowly and steadily he poured Taima inside the pin. He punched in a few numbers on his laptop. The pin numbers.  The pin closed firmly tight with a hiss. The final product- The pin Taima was ready. 

Now comes the best part. Taima would fly anywhere in the world even to the remotest place not in the map-  at Michael’s command. And when any human or even an animal gets stung by it, it will first suck out all the memory from that person’s brain cell and store it in a fraction of a second before killing him or her. The sting will melt the body of a person instantly as if some lava was poured over him or her, but there would be no trace left of it. No marks. No ashes. Nothing. Zilch. As if that person did not exist. The memories recorded and stored in Taima would be everything that person had witnessed and stored in his brain from the time that person was born and was capable of remembering things. His or her childhood, ideas, things seen,  thoughts, vision, ideals - everything would be stored, and which could be viewed whenever as if someone was watching a film. Even the subconscious mind, the person’s dreams and whatever the person was capable of memorising.  Michael could tap into the brain as if the person was alive and view it on his screen with complete clarity. 

The launch pad was ready. Taima was restless and eager to go. 

Michael waited for his phone to ring.  A client would assign him a target. The client was not aware how Taima operated or would not get to know anything other than that that the target was eliminated.  The client would not even know how the target was eliminated. The data stored in Taima would be Michael’s only.  And he would then use it as he deemed fit….

The Brush

 

In the kitchen where I stood,

colourful prayer flags hung. 

I was warming up some food

but the prayer bells had rung. 

As I turned towards the wall

an old  brush near the flags fell.

“keep it elsewhere” - was the call-

the prayer flags seemed to tell. 

The signs by Him are subtle. 

The bells chimed, the flags fluttered. 

The Leaf

 

The leaf fluttered in the breeze. 

The dew rolled down to the ground. 

Then shone the pale yellow crease

amidst the flowers abound. 

Slowly the leaf turned red-brown

in contrast to the green crook. 

Will it decorate a crown,

or mark a page in a book?

In hope it fell from the tree. 

The broom swished away its plea. 

Ladybird W

 

It was 4 o’clock in the morning when Michael finally returned home. He had walked for five hours on the beach. It was low tide and pleasant. It was his birthday today. But he hadn’t had time or inclination to drink and celebrate. Those things will come later in the day. He had to polish off Ladybug W.  It was take-off time.

 

Ladybird W was a tiny object or rather computer created by Michael. She guzzled billions of data and analysed. It had the tiniest camera to take pictures, store them and act upon them as she deemed fit- which, by the way, Michael did it manually initially but over time she did it on her own. But every now and then, not often, she relied on Michael.  Thank you! - Michael mumbled. Well! What could he say? She was his baby, so - arrogance, attitude and creativity were in her genes. So, thank you, Michael. She smirked hearing Michael sigh. 

Ladybird W - It took exactly one year to create her. It coincided with Michael’s birthday. Or rather Michael made sure it should take exactly that much time. He didn’t believe in coincidences- one more trait passed onto Ladybird W. What a family tree it will be. 

This girl was built differently. Unlike other objects, she did not melt in extreme heat or cold, nor erode nor rust. It had no melting point. She was emotionless - as Michael liked to think. Michael had created her from the strongest metal, and again, she had outgrown very quickly and built her own armour. Michael wondered how? But he had eventually stopped asking these questions a long time back.  As long as she worked as per what Michael had in mind. 

Ladybird W did not require a plug or socket or any charger to get herself working.  She relied on fuel - any kind of petroleum product. And that too, very little to last her for a long time. Michael wondered how she would fuel herself once he released her. 

Ladybird W was already humming and buzzing- restless to take off. 

Final touches- polishing, caressing, some elaborate and unnecessary checking. And finally she took off. She made no sound. Michael watched her fly from his balcony.  He went to his laptop to monitor her journey. First time out, on her own, underage and all that stuff. 

She was flying at a breath taking speed. After five minutes or so Michael realised that she increased her speed even further. Almost 100 kph. every half a minute or so. Where did she get this energy from? This was certainly not from him. In no time or rather in Ladybird W time, she had reached Africa. When Michael looked closely at his monitor he realised that Ladybird W had already sent  five thousand photos of the places she had travelled and what she deemed fit to send. Now, do I have to send in a request  or ask for a code to open her secret files? Grumbled Michael. 

The photos were of amazing clarity. Ladybird W had sent photos of the jungles of Africa, jungles uninhabited. And the recorded videos. Michael stared at the screen. He punched in some numbers to go live.  And there she was - glued to the wall of a pyramid in Egypt.  As Michael watched, he realised ladybird W was sending some numbers which flashed on the screen. They were the dimensions of the pyramid, the stone structure, its make and all the paraphernalia regarding the pyramid on which she was resting. The fly on the wall was walling. The video went blurry as she flew off.  Michael realised that she had switched off the video. Hmmm. Michael decided  to get some sleep but he knew he was too excited to sleep.  

The  next picture she sent was of a cake with “ Happy Birthday M” written on it. Thank you!  

For an hour or so there was no activity and Michael almost dozed off till a tiny beep woke him up. It was a file with a caption “ please open the file, birthday boy “. Michael clicked and saw some pictures.  They were of an old dilapidated temple.  Now, why would Ladybird W send pictures of some random temple? Unlike her. On closer look Michael saw that she had made some signs as to where to look. When Michael zoomed in he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. There were mathematical equations as to how this old temple was built. And those formulae were not written by Ladybird W.  They were the originals written by someone who had built this temple at the time unknown. Michael typed in - “ Dated ? “ - half challenging, half  expecting no answer but out popped the answer from Ladybird W - 8000 BC-  

Interesting but please - can we now move on from Maths and geometry? 

Michael punched in to go live.  “Request granted “- came the reply. Seriously?  

She was in an oil rig. It was gigantic in size and an area never seen or heard before. And she had chosen this place for a refuel. But why here? She could easily quench her thirst from ordinary household cooking oil. All she needed was a drop or two to fly for a hundred hours. The oil rig had no company name, no logos, nothing written whatsoever anywhere. Illegal? Maybe. Ladybird W was showing off her find. These habits die hard. The moment Michael spotted her she took a holy dip in one of the open oil wells.  Drank some oil, swam, did some underwater scuba and out she flew. She flew zigzag as if she was inebriated. Yeah! yeah! Enough of your gimmicks. 

There were two people chatting idly. Ladybird W softly landed on one of the men’s shirt collars. Ever so softly. None  of them gave an indication as to whether something was amiss. Michael raised his eyebrows. Impressive. Those two people continued talking. It was a foreign language. And Michael couldn’t understand. But suddenly the conversation was translated and flashed on his monitor like movie subtitles. Ladybird W! But when Michael read what was being translated by Ladybird W, he couldn’t believe it. These guys were planning something  bad on a massive scale. Well! If Ladybird W can land here, she can land anywhere undetected. White House? Pentagon? Mossad ?Space? Nuclear site? She could go as close to the Sun as no one has ever been.  Deepest in the seas. Arctic.? She was made of that metal or rather she made herself of that metal over time so that she could withstand extreme heat or cold or whatever the future offered or challenged. The list turned endless and with that the temptation too. But the biggest question was - would Ladybird W ever return home?

Happy birthday, Michael.  Time to sleep….

Dogs’ World

 

The dogs watched the lift go up. 

Boing! Their antennae up. 

Heads tilted and eyes popped out. 

Wondered who would next show up. 

Old-Age Home

 

A white van arrived at the old-age home.

The clock chimed for the leisurely rituals. 

A wheelchair appeared to ramp down the slope. 

Time for visuals and shut off the virtual. 

First out of the home was an old lady. 

Gloved and muffled up in a pink jacket. 

Then an old man with a hat all ready. 

And two cronies set to make a racket. 

It was a process to get to the van.

The idle limbs did nothing but scrolling. 

Canes, wheels and shiny cream for the suntan.

They were eager to get the ball rolling. 

Call this not a drama for the comfort. 

When one derives  much pleasure in effort. 

A Boston Morning

 

It was a sunny morning in Boston. I made some Kapi and stood on Niyo’s balcony.  Sun filtered through the trees. From Niyo’s apartment I could see the road going either way. The house opposite was an old-age home. Every morning at 8, a van arrived to pick up the oldies for a drive. Maybe for half a day. I sipped my kapi. Soon they would get into the van all smiling and eager. I decided to go for a walk. The phone and the map switched on full alert mode knowing my sense of direction. I flipped a coin to decide which way to go first. The left side won. It was a bit windy but pleasant. A few walks down the road and I saw a sloping service road. A bit of a  climb but I needed that after the previous night’s drinking. Few carpenters were mending a house. The slope ended and met the main road again. On the main road I could see the Shivalik store just opening. Early. The owner was Sam from Nepal. I had chatted with him the previous day for one hour. About what? I had no idea. All I had done was buy some potatoes and swap stories from our homes. The main road met the highway where the office-hour traffic would soon start. There was a bench at the intersection. I wiped the dew off and sat.  One side was overlooking the garden which had a small fort kind of thing, the other side the city life. And of course one wine shop- universal temptation - closed yet close. The quiet, the pace or the folly- the choice was yours. I turned back and started walking towards Niyo’s apartment. Even from far I could see the big van approaching the old-age home. There would be shrieks of laughter. The picnic would soon begin. I took the street down away from the main road.  It was quiet. Most of the houses had beautiful balconies or porches. I walked further down admiring those houses.  Didn’t people come out and sit outside? I would, probably the whole day. The street turned a corner and joined another street. Wow! This street was lined with blooming trees. Yellow, orange, red, purple, brown. It was Fall.  I looked around and realised that all the streets were lined with these vibrant trees. Something  I had overlooked because I wasn’t looking or expecting. Some leaves had fallen from those trees making a colourful circle around the tree. - I hope nobody brooms it alway - I thought. 

I took a U turn and took another street. Some more gorgeous trees. I could sit there and stare at them the whole day. All the streets were so quiet- even when a car passed. A few more sloping streets and I came to a playground.  The ground was yellow till I realised those were yellow flowers that had covered the ground. I took two rounds of the ground and reached Shivalaya, the temple. It was probably the only temple in Niyo’s neighbourhood. It was on the second floor of a big building which occupied other offices. It was a temple where one found peace. Time for peace talks not that I had a disagreement with God but just in case He thought I didn’t visit Him often. How religious! I climbed up the stairs. Once inside I took two rounds around the deities, prayed for Niyo and sat. I sat there for a long time. The peace was powerful. When I opened my eyes I saw the Bhatji watching me.  We smiled. He gave Prasad. I thanked and was back walking the streets. 

This routine I would continue whenever I visited Boston. 

Signs

 

Do not belittle nature. 

Nor call its message a scrawl. 

Though ills seem miniature-

the writing is on the wall. 

Lucid signs of fate tell much- 

takes not much to decipher. 

A man reads yet fails to judge

the simple scrolls and cyphers. 

When exhaust all excuses-

the rolling dice stand accused. 

A Bike Ride

 

I was in Tarkarli village for two days. It’s a small sea-village so to roam around I hired a bike. The cook of the resort where I was staying lent it to me. His bike, my petrol. I was riding after a long time so I was a bit cautious and anxious. But I soon realised I didn’t have to be since early morning the roads were empty. And it was too early even by my standards. I rode at a leisurely pace- the pace of a village. The cool breeze against my face. The clucks of hens and roosters crossing the road or randomly taking a ramp-walk. Some halted and stared at me wondering who this weird person was who got up in the morning before us. I took their permission, waved and rode ahead. The village homes were built in a modern style - probably better since almost all houses had a balcony or a verandah,  a rare thing for the city people. And a poultry farm. I guess the population of hens and roosters was double or triple than the people who lived there.  I was right in taking their permission to ride. The road zigzagged through the village in a lazy manner.  I passed some garages.  The road turned and kinda abruptly halted near an open sand area. I paused my bike. There were boatmen waiting. They had their boats ready to take a customer for a sea- ride if they wished. Some recognised me since I had already ridden their boat for dolphin sighting. They smiled and greeted me. They offered me chai which they were drinking from a big flask. I thanked but declined. I rode further down and after a short ride the road ended where it met the sea. I got down from the bike and took in the view. This place was called  sangam since here, a nearby river met the sea. There was an old tree trunk half buried in the sand. I got down from my bike and sat on it.  I could see the colour of the sea changing and the sea taking a different shape. Hmmm.  I sat there for a long time. Don’t know how long but long enough to wake up a dog who belonged  to that area, or rather owned the area. The boss. He saw me, barked, sniffed and then sat next to me wagging his tails in approval. I was accepted.  He sat with me giving me company and every now and then looked at me  asking -  how is my place, my sangam? - and I patted his head each time. He seemed to like it.  Or rather vice versa. He fell asleep lolling. I fell asleep sitting, dozing. Some few minutes later I woke up and saw the boss was still dozing. But he sensed I was awake and squinted at me. Time to say goodbye. I patted his head one last time and started my bike to explore the other side of the village. The village was waking up….. 

Glamour

 

You cannot resist the lure of glamour-

glamour of beauty or glitter of gold. 

How feeble is the armour of amour

against the society flashy but cold. 

Their clothes match the uppity appearance. 

The talks are warm but the smile is distant. 

The act is put on by these royal ones.

The division of class is apparent. 

In a mob where people live to compete-

this play of wealth is misled to believe. 

Life seems inadequate and incomplete

to the common man who competes to live. 

The glams pose to the pops of the flash bulb -

You wander in wonder and gaze and gulp. 

She Waited To Say Goodbye

 

Every Friday or Saturday we had dinner at her house. She would call me at 9 in the morning  in my office a few days in advance - either on Tuesday or Wednesday - and ask what I would like to have for dinner. And then the preparation began, or rather excitement grew. I would pick up a bottle of whiskey and ice creams. We reached there at 6 in the evening. She waited in the balcony or kept the door open from 5 o’clock. The door opened wider the moment we arrived. All smiles. And then the fussing began - as if she hadn’t fussed over us long enough. I would open the bottle of whiskey and before I knew it, water in all forms materialised - cold , warm, Bisleri. She made some bhajiyas or batata vadas for starters and though I had said no to the main course - she made vagharelo bhaat. Was it spicy enough or I wanted more spice. Without tasting it I knew It was perfect. 

After a couple of drinks ( she didn’t drink ) it was time for gossips. And they arrived in colourful forms, and in abundance. What with a few whiskeys down.  She knew more about people and things than I. Way more. But she wanted more in case she had missed out on something new. I filled that so-called void with my own stories which were drab. But she enjoyed, laughed and fussed more. After a couple of hours we had our food which was always placed neatly on the table.  Variety of spoons and forks. Different sizes and shapes. She wasn’t much of a cutlery queen but she provided all sorts. We should not miss out. Then it was time for ice creams.  White, brown, almond, shrikhand. More gossips that continued well into the night. And finally it was time to go. I always hired a driver or took a rickshaw;  she didn’t want me to drive after drinking. Not that I would have driven but I made her feel that it was her wise decision. She waited in the balcony and waved goodbye till we drove away.  And probably waited even after that. 

We followed this ritual for the next ten years. 

But one Friday I called up from my office because she hadn’t called a few days in advance for our elaborate meal session. And I doubted if she had forgotten. No chance. From her voice I felt she wasn’t feeling well. And she said since this Friday or Saturday it wouldn’t be possible for dinner so if I could come on Saturday afternoon to see her. So I went the next day in the morning and she was resting. This time she didn’t herself offer anything to eat or drink but directed me about its whereabouts.  I didn’t want to eat, and surprisingly she offered me a beer which was probably lying in the fridge for very  long. She knew I didn’t drink in the afternoons  so I was surprised. I had a few sips of beer and spent some time with her. And said will come again to see her the next day. She didn’t get up to bid her customary goodbye. But she had waited to say goodbye one final time. She waved from her bed lying down, smiling. Little did I know that was her last goodbye. 

Years have passed since then. Sometimes I stand in the balcony, look up at the sky, smile and say hi. 

The Green Bench

 

The sun has an orange band. 

From here I can see the sea. 

The mild waves caress the sand. 

Time chimes for something fizzy. 

Fishermen are coming home. 

The sun dips, the moon rises. 

The lonely vagabonds roam. 

Beach with a glimpse of guises.

Dew settles on the green bench. 

Twists of lemons my fires quench.

To Catch The Mocking Rat

A little brat rat regularly ate my car wires which were connected to my car air-conditioner. I would get into the car, start the A/C but after a few minutes start sweating, and then start swearing profusely. I would get out, open the bonnet and there lied the proof. Wires had been eaten by the bloody rat. Then I would take the car to the mechanic who would be smilingly waiting for me. Without even checking what was wrong with the car, he would go inside his shop and get the necessary tools required to fix the wires. It had become a ritual- religiously started by this rat. Sometimes I think the rat ate the wires just to mock me. He would be thinking - today I have nothing to do, that buffoon has parked his red car in the same place again and will not move it for the next 5 days, let me go and eat some wires, it’s anyways bit cold, and I need some exercise for my teeth so - crunch, crunch, crunch. 

Maybe it was his appetiser or his dessert. Or maybe he wasn’t hungry at all. He just seemed to love it. 

I had enough of it.  I had to catch this mocking rat. After some deep thinking - I devised a plan. I went and bought a packet or rather packets of naphthalene balls. These are small, white chemical balls which produce a terrible stench. I took a few of them, opened the car bonnet and placed them inside and shut it. And I waited for the next day. I woke up earlier than usual - eager to check the wires   They were intact. Hooray! I took the car out for a small drive to celebrate. 

I slept peacefully that night.  But the next day when I started the car and then put on the A/C, I heard a hissing sound coming out from the duct. Once again I sweated and swore profusely. What had happened was that when I took the car for a drive the naphthalene balls had rolled off and the happy rat had a field day. Again the same mechanic repaired the car. He was once again pre-equipped with the tools. And that innocent smile. As if he wasn’t aware. Seriously? You and the rat were in cahoots. He charged me less this time for his services. Maybe he took  pity on me. Maybe the rat ate less wires. Maybe whatever. 

The next day - deeper thinking. I opened the bonnet, took few naphthalene balls, and put them in a small cloth. I opened the car bonnet and placed them near where the A/C wires protruded. I thought for a moment and realised the cloth might just roll off just like the naphthalene balls did. So I smiled - the mechanic’s smile or the rat’s smile, took a small thread and tied the cloth with the naphthalene balls and tied the ominous looking bundle to the small A/C duct in the car bonnet. I checked and rechecked the setting. Mission accomplished and satisfied. The stench will drive away the rat, or i guess even any human being. The rat didn’t come the next day or the day after. It probably went away in search of some other buffoon. The mechanic’s smile faded. And I took an oath -  I will drive less or drive only when needed, or not drive at all, so that the package doesn’t fall. And keep the car as a trophy which I will keep staring at it stupidly which I had won against the mocking rat. Well! I didn’t catch him but….