(Image found here. Copyright Unknown)

“Did you know that our staple food is also our currency?” Andy said as he took a big bite of his Big Mac.

I knew, by now, not to say anything for, or against the matter–he’d propound one of his bizarre theories no matter what I thought. Resigning myself mentally for what was to to come, I silently sighed and took a bite out of my Big Mac myself.

“In the Early Times, the currencies of the world were valued on the amount of gold possessed by each country,” he began his ‘impromptu’ lecture.

“Country?”

“Geographical divisions, each with an independent political system,” he explained.

“Sssh! Not so loud!” I hissed. “You can’t use the i-word that freely, dude! You know that!” I whisper-yelled at him, my eyes darting around the canteen to see if anyone had heard his stupid gaffe. Thankfully, most heads were buried in their own, personal Macs – the edible kinds. Assured that we were safe, I closed my eyes in a silent prayer of thanks. Andy, meanwhile, continued his chomping like nothing was wrong.

I swear I feel like strangling him sometimes–but then, I’d be alone for lunch.

“The gold standard was quite effective until one of the countries–”
“Count-tries?”
“Plural of country, an in–”
“Sssh! I get it!” I hissed again, interrupting him before he could carelessly spit the i-word like an offending piece of lettuce stuck between his yellow teeth.

“–one of the countries raked up a debt that was twice its annual income,” he continued, oblivious to my nervous twitches. I was following him more closely–not because I was interested but because I was worried that he might say something stupid.

Then again, what he was saying was beginning to make sense, but I’d rather die than admit it to him. He already had a head that was two sizes too big for his shoulders.

“This country, they just kept adding to their debt until the day came when there was no more debt to be accrued–simply because there was no more money! They couldn’t sell their gold either because they had borrowed all the money there was, leaving not just themselves but the whole world in debt!”

“That doesn’t sound logical at all. If one of them was in debt, someone was owed, right? They could simply foreclose on them, right?”

“True, but the debt also accrued interest over time and this went above and beyond the capital holdings. In a world of money, it doesn’t take too many digits for things to go wrong,” he picked up a fried potato stick and stared at it. “Did you know, these were called French fries?”

“French?” I asked, demonstrating my ignorance again. “French, as in, of or belonging to France, a country from the Early Days,” he lectured tonelessly. Mt ears perked up at the mention of the word ‘country’. Fortunately, the side-discussion-slash-footnote had ended there. The main discussion, however, continued.

“What they realized was, the value of their money was based on the value they attributed to their gold. Gold, back then, was a very precious commodity,” he said slurping his Liquid Happiness.

I found it somewhat ironic that he was expounding the preciousness of gold while drinking through a straw, out of a cup–both of which were made of the very same metal. He must have caught the irony in my look because he hurriedly added, “Of course, this was Early Days – way before the Martian deposits were found.”

“Gold was valued differently by different countries – some flaunted kilos of it on their person and others stored huge blocks in underground safes.”

“So? What difference does that make?”

“A world of difference, apparently. Since gold was valued so differently, the costs were also quite different.”

“You’re not making any sense, you know that, right? Also, what does this discussion have to do with this?” I said pointing at my Big Mac – the object that started the discussion in the first place.

“To answer your questions: a. Let me explain and b. I’m coming to that,” he said coolly, eliciting another silent sigh from yours truly. I nodded and the ‘lecture’ continued.

“Look at this glass,” he said, lifting up his glass of Liquid Happiness. “How much do you think it costs?”
“I dunno. They probably buy it wholesale–a whole bunch of them for a Beem, I’d say.”
“True. Yet, if this glass were to be the glass that your partner had her Liquid Happiness in, during your first courtship period, how much would you pay for it?”
“Ah, in that case, it’d probably be worth a lot more!” I nodded in agreement.
“Similarly, the cost of gold was always offset with the value attributed to the gold. Countries where gold wasn’t available but had a higher value – sentimental or otherwise – usually sold gold at a marginally higher price, the marginal difference being that of the offset, of course.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Yet, that is how it was in the Early Days.”
“I can see why the whole thing fell apart. It was fundamentally flawed from the very beginning!”
“Exactly! Somewhere, during the end of the Early Days, a young tyke of a newspaper reporter wrote about how the same food item was priced differently in different countries.”
“There were more than two countries?”
“More than two hundred, if my memory serves me correctly.”
“Whoosh!”
“Anyway, it was only supposed to be a humorous piece describing the disparity in the valuation of currencies–the disparity occurring because they used gold as a standard baseline.”

He slurped the last remnants of his Liquid Happiness and threw the cup and straw into the Recyclable Disposal Unit. I did the same with mine.

“One of the countries seized on the opportunity to stage a revolt against the gold standard baseline. They dissociated themselves with the rest of the world, privately abolished the gold standard and adopted the food item mentioned in the news-piece as their currency standard. It was initially meant as a joke but the idea took off and soon it became a norm. They even nationalized the chain that was responsible for producing the food item. Come to think of it, they did that–the nationalizing, I mean–with a lot of things during that time.”
“Lemme guess, the food item in question was the Big Mac?”
“Hence the name Beem; its just a shortened version of the name – Big Mac.”
“Funny story.”
“Yup. What started as a joke became the foundation for the unification of the world. Countries all over the world were anyway frustrated with the gold standard. They saw the Beem as a release from the financial clutches of the debt-ridden ‘super-powers’ and almost immediately followed suit. The Beem spread like a wyld-fire.”

I could see he was on fire himself. Figuratively speaking, of course. Then again, I was too engrossed in his story, by now, to care.

“Not long after that, one of the space missions revealed that huge deposits of gold-per were found underneath Mt. Olympus on Mars. Some believed that it was a last-ditch effort by the gold-standard consortium to bring back the old standard. They even came up with a smart punchline to sell the idea: ‘Old is Gold’ or something like that.”
“I like that.”
“Yeah, it was good but not as good as the retaliation by the Federation of Beem-standard Countries. They simply reversed the phrase.”
“Gold is Old?”
“Yup.”
“Heh. Smart AND funny. I like it better!”
“Exactly what the rest of the world thought. Moreover, the discovery of the gold-deposits eventually worked against the gold-standard.”
“What? How?”
“More gold meant less demand, hence–’
“–less value. I see it. Simple demand and supply theory.”
“Economics 101,” he said and lifted his gold tray to discard it to the Reusables counter, thus making an emphatic point – if there ever was one.

#

I wrote this after I read a piece about how the price of a Big Mac was different in different countries. I wondered whether the Big Mac would make a good currency standard and started writing. Feels incomplete, doesn’t it? Well, that’s because most of it is hogwash anyway and I didn’t really want to put my entire ignorance on display – at least some of it should remain hidden, right? ;)

In other news, I am doing the NaNoWriMo again this year but the discipline from last year is missing – my current word count is a measly 2678 words. I hope to do a word-sprint (word-marathon-run?) this Sunday and cover about 9 times that number. I’ll hopefully be up to 25000+ words next week.

Wish me luck. :)

*******

“Looks the same. Feels the same. We can’t be too far away from the fork.”
“It depends on how you look at it, really. If you’re looking to get as far away from A.R. as possible this would be a very bad place to end up. on the other hand, if you want to return to A.R. as soon as possible – this is the best place to be.”

A.R. is Absolute Reality – the universe that we all live in. Everything else is A*R – Alternate Reality. You see, dreams have a universe of their own. Every time you dream, you are actually creating an parallel universe – an alternate reality. Every choice you make, every decision you take is a pathway to this parallel universe, this alternate reality. Dreams are direct windows to these alternate universes.

That is where we come into the picture.

We are tA/ARP – the Alternate/Absolute Reality Patrol. Our job is to edit the Alternate Realities that could be detrimental to our Absolute Reality. Often this is accomplished by influencing the subject into believing that the Alternate Reality in question is detrimental to their *own* existence.

Simple, yet elegant, isn’t it?

“Sure. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Our destination was a posh-looking apartment in the middle of one of the richest areas of the city. The subject apparently lived on the top floor – clearly, things had worked out well in this scenario. How else would you explain a penthouse flat? I was impressed. The subject had chosen well. Heck, I wouldn’t mind having a pad here!

The lift opened into (what looked like) a well-decorated lobby – or is it called an ante-chamber? A butler greeted us upon arrival. A butler, eh? I thought to myself. Impressive. We were ushered into a large study that also served as a home-office. The subject sat behind a large table that looked like it was made out of mahogany, or ebony, or whatever it is that the rich guys keep bragging about.

“Who are you & what do you want?”
“Mr. Smith, we are from the I.R.S. and we’re here to investigate you.”

Mr. Smith is, quite obviously, an alias. I can’t tell you the subject’s real name. What I can tell you is this: the subject in question was offered a large bribe in exchange for trade-secrets – you now, the kind a competitor would pay for. The RA team (Risk Assessment team) at tA/ARP estimated that there was a 99.375% probability that the subject would eventually become a bigger menace if left unchecked.

“But… but… I…”

“We know everything, Mr. Smith. I must admit, you have come a long way from corporate espionage – you sell state secrets now. I’m impressed! However, it also ensures that you will be going away for a long, LONG time.”
Like I said earlier, our job is to influence the subject. A gullible mind is easy to influence if you have your story right. In this case, influencing him meant scaring him. By the looks of it, the commander seemed to be doing a fine job. I could see the subject turning pale. I could sense the panic building in him. I could feel the fear emanating from him. Heck, I could almost read his thoughts. This alternate reality wasn’t well-constructed at all; which meant that he hadn’t thought it through. This was going to be easy – right out of the textbook.

“Mr. Smith, from this moment on you are under arrest. Here’s the warrant. As of this moment all your accounts have been frozen. You are to not to leave your house without permission from the court. Do you understand me?”
“Y-y-y-e-s.”

We had the guy where we wanted him – in the corner, sweating his pants off. The rest of it was pretty standard procedure.

“You have the right to remain silent…”
————
“The skies have begun to fall. The A*R is crumbling. Time to leave, 101. Is the subject asleep?”
“Yes. I’ve set up the re-insertion equipment. I also added a little extra to ensure a smooth ride back.”
“Good. Keep an eye out for the skirting tile that looks like aminimized window on the taskbar.”

I smiled & said, “Ready & waiting.”

*******
And thus, the story concludes. But first, a disclaimer: I had thought of this story much before “Inception” released – I hadn’t gotten around to writing it. I hope you’ll believe me. And yes, do let me know what you think. Thanks for dropping by! :)
——
Footnotes:

• Original pic by puroticorico.
• Remixed under CC 2.0 Attribution using Befunky.

*******

A window squeezed out of the tile & positioned itself on the wall.

We’d seen our share of windows during training – baroque, gothic, neo, ionic, greek, modern, post-modern and all that. But this one took the cake, the icing, the cherry & all that. I’d once seen a window that was so small, it looked no more than a ventilation hole. The room ended up looking like solitary confinement. I learnt later the owner had been wrongly imprisoned & then tortured in jail. I guess things you have a deep hatred for _do_ leave a really deep impression.

Or things you love.

“Figures, eh? A software engineer, a Mac afficionado – the window had to be ‘minimized’ to the ‘taskbar,’ eh?”
“Yeah. Pity, it took us this long to figure it out.”
“Well, when our brains are trained so much, we tend to miss the most obvious. What matters is what lies beyond that window. Are you ready to find out?”

And with that she jumped on to the bottom ledge of the (now open) window. She made it look so easy, so natural you’d have thought she was born with wings. Then, the condescending bitch that she was, she held out her hand for me to grab.

This was, clearly, a challenge. But I wasn’t too worried. After all, I had had a lot of practice jumping on to windows during training. This one seemed like a cinch. I cocked my knees together & jumped. Only, I’d miscalculated the room gravity. I ended up head-butting the top of the window.

“Ouch!” I screamed.
“Ah, you men! You would carry your ego to the grave if you could..” I decided not to take the bait.
“Are we sure,” I said, rubbing my head, “this IS the right window?”

As soon as I had said those words, the door disappeared. We looked at each other – the decision was made.

“The room is crumbling. We don’t have much time. We’ll need to act fast!”
“Oh, in that case – after you!”

What’s worse than a woman getting on your nerves is a woman who knows how & when she gets on your nerves. She knew how to get on my nerves alright. She also knew when she got on my nerves. Right now though, we needed to act fast – we needed to get off the ledge. So we jumped & disappeared into oblivion.

Oblivion is a horrible place to be, especially for a beginner.

You don’t exist, but you do. You are nothing & yet, you are everything. You lose yourself & then find yourself, only to lose yourself again. You’re a memory & suddenly you’re alive. You feel you are an insignificant atom of the universe only to realize that you are the universe yourself. And before you can enjoy the euphoria, you realize that you don’t exist in oblivion. But you do exist in oblivion.

Yes, oblivion is a horrible place to be, especially for a beginner.

The other end of oblivion is another window – only this time, when you exit out of oblivion, you enter _into_ a room. Then you find the door & exit. Easy as pie. You never spend more than a few seconds in oblivion.

We spent a few uncomfortable moments in oblivion and finally found the window.

To say we ‘entered’ the room would be a gross understatement. A better description would be that we were ‘thrown’, ‘flung’, ‘rocketed’, ‘catapulted’ into the room. I was a little surprised by this development, but chose not to comment.

“That was a rough ride! I guess that’ll teach us not to delay action once we’ve reached a decision.”

Sigh. She was still baiting. But I wasn’t biting – I was genuinely curious now.

“You mean that wasn’t how it’s supposed to happen?”
“Not quite. We’re supposed to find the ledge, land on it & re-assemble. This time, the re-assembly happened before the landing & we were ‘ejected’, so to speak.”
“What?! How?! Why?”
“You’ve exhausted your quota of questions for the day, 101. We need to focus on the task at hand. I trust you have all the necessary equipment?”
“Yes. Right here.”
“Good. Let’s move.”

We had arrived at the door. We opened it & stepped out into a brand new world.

(To Be Concluded)
*****
The story-in-parts continues. I think I have this one pretty much sorted out now – but I still ain’t sure how this one’s gonna end. Meanwhile, do tell me what you think of it? :)
——
Footnotes:

• Original pic by puroticorico.
• Remixed under CC 2.0 Attribution using Befunky.

I started scanning the room. It wasn’t too big; it would take me a few seconds to realize -

“There is no window.”
“Can’t be. Keep looking. It has to be here somewhere. There’s always a window.”
“You’ve been here before, right? Don’t you remember where you saw it last?”
“Things have changed. The room is quite different from what I remember. And anyway, I am as new to this place as you are. Just keep looking..”

Was there a hint of wistfulness in her voice? I decided not to pursue the matter further.

“Alright. You take the North end, I’ll take the South. Ping me if you find something.”
“Sure.”
“How much time do we have?”
“Not much. A few clicks, maybe.”
“Then let’s not waste any. Scanner up!”

We powered up our scanners and trotted off in different directions.

The first thing that stuck me about the room was the shape. It was oblong. Like a passageway that had been held at two ends & stretched. Also, the decor – or rather, the lack of it – was as spartan as spartan goes. Incidentally, there was no furniture. Then again, you wouldn’t expect there to be any furniture in a room like this. Technically speaking, it wasn’t even a room.

“101, come in. Come in, 101″

What? She found it already?

“101 here. What did you find? Over.”
“I’m not quite sure. Have you seen the skirting? Over.”
“Skirting? What skirting? Over.”
“The tiles that run along the bottom of the walls. See them? Over.”
“Yeah, I see them. Meet me at the door. Over.”
“Already here. Over.”

Efficient as ever. Bitch.

I turned & headed towards the door, cursing myself for not having seen the obvious. Of course, it had to be the skirting, what else? It fit the profile perfectly. Moreover, what better place to hide that in plain sight? We’d have to be careful, though. One wrong move and-

“So what do you think?”
“It looks like the real thing. The question is: which one’s ours?”
“The one that’s been least used?”
“We only have one move.”
“We make it, then.”
“Alright. Let’s do it. We gotta find it first.”
“Already found. Look here.”

She was pointing at the door. The tiles that skirted the edge of the door were brand new – or rather, as brand new as they could get, anyway. She moved towards them.

“Wait!” I almost screamed.
“Trust me,” she said.

And she pressed the tile.

(To Be Continued)
*****
I am back with yet another story-in-parts. I’m not sure how this one will end though. I’m oscillating wildly between three possible outcomes. Tell me what you think of it? :)
——
Footnotes:

• Original pic by puroticorico.
• Remixed under CC 2.0 Attribution using Befunky.

There was a slight pause (or had I imagined it?) before Jeeves continued.

“Not quite, sir. Most of the money went into clearing the debt. The surplus money was being utilized for the upkeep of the school; for instance, some of it went into buying the turpentine for polishing the wooden floors & doors.”

I had a look on my face that said you-must-be-joking. He had a look on his face that said I’m-not-kidding.

I’d seen that look earlier. I knew what that look meant.

Every year the students that graduate out of Butler School are given an opportunity to choose a butler-name for themselves. Most of them chose Jeeves – after the character made immortal by P.G.Wodehouse – for themselves; only a few of them live up to the name. John Smith graduated at the top of his class & the rest, you would think, is history, right?

Wrong. As it turns out, John Smith (now Jeeves) had no desire to be in the employ of any random Mr. Thomas, Richard or Harrison, Esq. He wanted to serve the institution that had made him the gentleman’s gentleman he was.

He wanted to be The Head-Butler at the Finishing School for Butlers – or Butler School as it was known among it’s incumbents & patrons alike.

I must mention here that a lot of people (including yours truly) were surprised by his choice. I mean, with the kind of honors he had when he graduated, the world was his oyster. He could have named his employer & they would have hired him without so much as batting an eyelid.

But here he was, sitting silent, yet firm on his decision.

So we hired him – as junior butler, of course. We didn’t want him to get too big for his shoes, did we? That he eventually made his way up the ladder was no surprise for any of us.

So you see, when Jeeves has THAT look on his face, you know he’s not kidding. Shaken (but not stirred) I prodded on, still hopeful…

“So you’re trying to tell me the two incidents were totally unrelated?”
“Indeed I am, sir.”
“And you expect me to believe that?”
“It is not my place to decide for you, sir.”
“Jeeves, I give up. All the evidence either seems circumstantial or superficial but I am inclined to believe that there was mischief involved.”
“I am not at liberty to comment upon it, sir.”

It was clear he was not going to give up easily. Still, I had one last ace up my sleeve.

“Okay, since you are clearly not helping…” – he half-raised his hands in protest – “…wait, hear me out. I have a theory. You don’t have to confirm it or deny it. Just hear me out, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t know who the large-hearted, large-pocketed anonymous donor was, but I have a suspicion he was working in cohorts with you guys…”
“Us, sir?
“Alright, I meant to say that he was working in cohorts with the management.
“How, sir?”
“I’m not quite sure, but this is my theory. The surplus money could have been used to buy anything. It was used to buy turpentine for a reason – to commit arson. Whoever was plotting this – and I use the word ‘plotting’ in the vaguest sense of the word – knew all along that the smallest fire could cause the whole place to be gutted down instantly!” I finished with a flourish & looked triumphantly at him.

“Good theory, sir. However, there’s one small glitch.”

Impossible. I knew I had covered all the bases.

“And what would that be?”
“The polishing is an annual ritual here at the Butler School. You probably wouldn’t know about it, but it was started shortly after you left the school. It was, after all, the cheapest option when it came to feasible upkeep of the institution.”

Damn. I hadn’t factored that at all.

“You win.” I sighed. “You know, Jeeves, I was so sure that there was mischief involved…”
“We often believe things because we *want* to believe them, sir.”
“Hypothetically though, it would have made for a great whodunnit, wouldn’ it?”
“Indeed it would, sir.”
“But it seems that our story lacks a very important detail – the perpetrator.”
“Perpetrator, sir?”
“Yes. A person who could be justifiably linked to the motive & opportunity & hence would actually perpetrate the crime – you know like the person who finally gets exposed at the climax of a good mystery novel.”
“You are right, sir.”
“Who do you think would be an ideal perpetrator in this story, Jeeves?”
“I’d go with what they usually go with, sir.”
“…”
“It’s quite simple, sir. I’d say the butler did it.”

——-
Again, this tweet by @adityab was the inspiration for this story. Oh, and you should check out his “Daily Fiction” writings, too – they’re fab! :)

And now, I welcome your bouquets & brickbats. :)

That is Jeeves – always the gentleman. But don’t worry. My name isn’t Bertie Wooster. And this isn’t a P.G.Wodehouse story.

“Here you go, Jeeves! The place sure has changed, hasn’t it?”
“It sure has, sir.”
“Something seems different about this place, Jeeves.”
“Different, sir?”
“Maybe it’s the reconstruction, or maybe…”

I paused to look at him. He returned a blank stare. Clearly, he hadn’t scored top honors during his schooling days for nothing. Nevertheless, I ploughed on.

“Tell me, after the fire gutted half the place down, they had to rebuild it from scratch, I suppose?”
“They did, sir.”
“But they never found out what exactly happened, did they?”
“No, they did not, sir.”

Things were getting curiouser and curiouser. Was Jeeves trying to avoid the topic? Why would he be so furtive about it? Wait a second, what was it that I had read about the fire? I racked my brains hard and –

“Wasn’t there some ruckus with the insurance company about possible arson?”
“Yes, there was, sir.”

Bingo.

“What was that all about? Can you tell me?”
“Surely, sir. The insurance company claimed that they found traces of a flammable substance in some of the burnt wood they examined, which later turned out to be turpentine. The management told them that all the wooden floors & doors were being polished & that mere presence of turpentine was no indication of arson. The insurance company found no other proof of malicious intent and finally paid the claims in full.”

I knew that wasn’t all. There was more to it than that.

“Look, I know the school was under heavy debt when the fire happened, wasn’t it?”
“Indeed, sir. It was.”
“Doesn’t that qualify as motive AND opportunity?”
“No, sir. There’s something else you don’t know. The debt was cleared in full thanks to a large sum donated by an anonymous well-wisher a few weeks before the accident happened.”
“What? The exact amount was donated by someone ANONYMOUSLY?”

There was a slight pause (or had I imagined it?) before Jeeves continued.

“Not quite, sir. Most of the money went into clearing the debt. The surplus money was being utilized for the upkeep of the school; for instance, some of it went into buying the turpentine for polishing the wooden floors & doors.”

To be concluded
——-
I have always wanted to write a whodunit for a long time, but I am not very good with suspenses. To be honest, this one isn’t exactly a suspense, either. But it sure has a twist in the tale. ;)

This tweet by @adityab was the inspiration for this story. Oh, and you should check out his “Daily Fiction” writings, too – they’re fab! :)

The story concludes with the next part in a few days… :)

First, look for a sucker. Identifying them wasn’t such a huge deal. All she had to do was look for the ones with the glazed eyes, a foolish smile & a lost expression on their faces. Okay, so the foolish smile was a red herring – I was just checking if you were paying attention.

Second, position self. If the sucker had been already primed, the position was automatically decided – somewhere in the area swept by the corner of the eye, but well away from the blind spot. Obviously, if you want to get noticed, what’s the use of settling in the blind spot, eh?

Third, call-out, but do NOT make it too obvious. A sly glimpse, a sneak peek, a quick glance – barely visible but enough to get noticed. Making your presence felt was what was important. Once this step was complete, the rest of it was a cakewalk, all downhill, easy as pie – you get the drift…

Sometimes, there would be a fourth step, too – nudge. More often than not, this step came into play only if the sucker was engrossed in something else, or had too many things on their mind, or – as it had happened in some in some extreme cases – had A.D.D.

Only the patient ones stayed back for step four. Tonight, she did not count herself among the patient ones.

****
He was staring into the distance with eyes wide open and there was just a hint of a lopsided grim on his face.

Right, let’s get on with step one, she thought to herself & started towards him. Curiously, as she made her way towards him, he couldn’t help but think that she seemed to float on something – like a cushion of air, or rather, “on seemingly nothing” – to put it in an award-winning author’s words.

It seemed as if she was waiting for someone to latch on to her – which is exactly what he decided he would do.

****
Pure love is a feeling that is hard to describe, they say. He knew *exactly* what they meant.

Ever since he’d met her, he’d ‘latched’ on to her. He’d ‘explored’ her in ways he did not know existed. She had shown him ‘avenues’ that excited him. He felt a passion he’d never felt before. Put it simply, he almost worshipped her.

Almost. Until IT happened.

****
He was gazing lovingly into her eyes, conjuring up images of a pretty future. She seemed a little distant…

“Hey you…”

He knew that would cheer her up – it always did. But all it brought forth this time from her was, “Hey, yourself…”

“Something on your mind?”
“We need to talk…”

The words hit him with the force of a zillion animals in a stampede. Coincidentally, the same stampede could be used to describe the over-crowding of thoughts that was to happen shortly.

Curiously enough, the first question that popped into his head wasn’t ‘Where’s my cigarette?’ It was more on the lines of ‘Wow! Has it been that long?’

And that set him thinking. ‘No wait, it’s been barely three months! But wow, that was fast!’ Each thought appeared as if out of nowhere, just as each animal in the aforementioned stampede would ‘seem’ to appear.
Anyway, he knew what was coming next, so he mentally braced himself for the impact.

“Sure, go ahead, tell me…”
“Where are we headed?”

Okay, that was blunt. Aren’t women supposed to be coy, coquettish, indirect, hint at, whatever with these sort of things? Is she allowed to be this blunt? Isn’t that a foul? Oh, there isn’t, right? Well, there should be! Anyway…

“I’m not sure I understand…”

That’s right! If she’s not gonna be indirect, I’ll be the one who’s indirect! One way or the other: STALL!!

“Oh c’mon! You don’t need to act thick! You know *exactly* what I mean! If you are going to be difficult about it – here – let me put it in plain words. Are you going to take our relationship to the next level or not?”

Damn. There was no escaping this one. One last attempt, maybe?

“Now, babe, listen to me…”
“DON’T ‘BABE’ ME!!”

Okay, so there was NO escaping this one.

Most animals, when faced with death, end up doing one of the following two things – ‘fight’ or ‘flight’. Human males, when confronted by an extremely emotional, highly-strung woman are known to do the same – except, in this case, the fights are dirty & the flights usually end up in Switzerland or oblivion. He quickly weighed his options & realized that he would have to use his ultimate weapon.

Yes, it would destroy her, but it was a matter of survival – HIS survival.
He took a deep breath & summoned the words from the deep, dark recesses of his mind, and began…

“Okay, I’m going to be totally honest with you, here. It’s not you, it’s me…”

****
She stepped out of his life as quickly, but not as wholesome, as she had entered it. She sighed – it was not the first time she’d made such an error of judgement. It was good while it lasted. She had left him something to remember her – not that he cared, but she always left a little part of herself wherever she went. Most of them usually found out about it much later.

‘What is it about committment that scares them so much? It’s just a leap of faith, isn’t it? What don’t they have? The courage to leap? Or the faith?’ she muttered aloud, but no answers were forthcoming.
Oh well, back to the grind, she thought, back to step one.

****
You could have easily identified him from the rest of the crowdcoming out of the movie screening simply by looking at the expressions. While the others were simply in awe, his face had ‘disbelief’ written in large, capital letters on it.

“Dude! Did you watch it? Did you understand it? IT WAS AWESOME!!”
“Er, uhm…”
“Speechless, eh? Yeah! Me, too! It was so friggin’ amazing, wasn’t it?!”
“Uh, erm…”
“Don’t be rude! Say something, dude!”
“HE STOLE MY IDEA!!”
“…”
“I’m not kidding! I had the very same idea a few months back! I had a good thing going with it. I planned to do something huge with it. Yeah, I had put it on the backburner for a while to deal with a few other things – but NO! He just HAD to go make a movie out of it, no?!”
“Erm…”
“SAY SOMETHING!!”

“Well, what can I say?! If you aren’t ready to commit, maybe there’s someone out there who is able & willing. Finder’s keepers, remember?”

Baba was born into a family which was quite poor. They were so poor that the only birthdays they celebrated were when they were born. Obviously, none of them remembered any of it. In fact, they were deemed socially poor BECAUSE they were economically poor and that bothered Baba a lot.

However, that did not deter Baba from wanting to get educated. He studied wherever he could – under the street lights, in the midst of a noisy crowd. All he needed was a little bit of time & a little bit of space. Such was his thirst for knowledge. And it paid ample dividends.

Baba became one of the most well-read, well-educated & well-respected people in the country.

He went on to write a very important book. The book was so important that it was read by everyone, everywhere in the country and referred to at all times. They referred to it when the country was at war, they referred to it when the country was at peace. They referred to it when the country needed guidance, they referred to it when the country didn’t need it at all!

They first referred to it when the rulers of the country changed & have been referring to it ever since…

One very important part of the book that Baba wrote involved a series of statements that went like this:

• To become socially rich, one must become economically rich.
• To become economically rich, one must be backed by the socially rich.
• The only way to break this vicious circle is by ‘booking’.

The ‘booking’ concept was quite radical. You book certain seats in the socially rich section for the socially poor & help them become economically rich and thus, socially rich. Once enough among the socially poor become socially rich (ergo economically rich) you stop these ‘bookings’ & let things go back to their previous state of affairs.

Baba was quite happy with this state of affairs & believed that the entire ‘reductio ad absurdum’ would now mean that nobody would be socially poor!

But where there’s a flight, there are hijackers waiting to usurp control.

This radical concept of ‘bookings’ was clearly a flight of fancy & hence it was duly hijacked & redirected on a direct collision course towards the twin towers of Equality & Justice. And that’s how both of them crashed to the ground.

Thus, as a direct result of the bookings, the socially poor got economically richer, the economically rich got socially richer & the socially rich weren’t the least bit bothered – since it was no skin off their nose, anyway.

One eventful result of this radical bit of thinking was that it earned Baba a lot of followers – some even crossed the line to become his ‘disciples’! His teachings weren’t exclusive but they took the plunge anyway. His disciples ensured that Baba was accorded the respect he always deserved wherever he went – not that anybody wasn’t willing to give it – but they went ahead and stamped their authority anyway; for want of better things to do in life.

Had Baba known, he would certainly be offended about it. But he was long dead by the time this happened. Dead people take no offense, you see, so all was well with the world.

The disciples sang his praises, erected shrines for him, celebrated his birthday year-after-year – they did everything he had always wanted to do, but couldn’t do for various reasons. There wasn’t a handbook to follow per se, but in retrospect, they thought they had managed it quite efficiently & they happily went about patting their backs.

And so it came to be that the boy named Baba, who had NEVER seen a birthday cake in his life, saw his birthday being celebrated with huge processions from point A to point B, with ‘walls’ of loudspeakers blaring the latest popular hits – all done with the sole purpose of ‘ keeping his memory alive’.

- The End -

PS: A few people wondered whether memory & loud-speakers were really connected. Extensive research was conducted into the correlation between memory & loud-speakers, but nobody was able to come up with a satisfactory explanation. Also, it made the disciples unhappy & the subject was dropped anon, without any further explanation.

—
Disclaimer: The fictional nature of this post is directly proportional to the readers’ inclination towards irrational fundamentalism. Cheers.

Yes. You read it right – hitched.

United.
Wedded.
Espoused.
Matrimony.
Saying I Do.
Tying the knot.
Led to the Altar.

Yes.

Here’s the wedding invite:

Yes, her name’s Gauri. She’s my sweetheart from college days. She currently teaches Psychology to Grad students studying the SNDT curriculum. She’s commented on my posts often – as “Simple Thoughts,” “Maitrai” & herself…

Yes, a crazy RJ like me needs a ‘psycho’ professor like her. Ha ha. :P

No, our parents didn’t object. (Okay, they did object a little, but thankfully, they came around soon enough.)

We’re getting wedded on the 22nd of Jan (yes, that’s two days from now) in a simple court-signing style without any ceremony. We’re hosting a dinner to celebrate the momentous occasion.

This is where it’s happening:
Suryoday Hall, Sai-Section, Ambernath (E)

For the Techies:
Google Maps link: http://bit.ly/MyWaterloo
GPS co-ordinates:
Long: 73 deg 10.922 min E
Lat: 19 deg 12.3874 min N

If you are in the vicinity, do drop by. I’d love it if you could be there.

:)

Finally, posting the (grand?) finale!!

I suggest, you read 24 & Dead – Part 1 & 24 & Dead – Part II before you continue…

—-

The fuckin meteorite had broken my toes, caused the girl and my cellphone to split, and worse, it had also fried my phone’s innards. I stopped to think – how did that happen? Magnetism? I looked at my watch. It was broken, but working. Radioactivity? Maybe… If that was it, it could be frying my innards, too.

And at that moment I knew I was going to die. I was only twenty-four and I was about to die. Pity.

I thought of fighting death till my last breath and all that poetic, euphemistic jazz. Then I realized that even if I were to make it out of here alive, I would still have to fight my extreme [blood]-phobia, somehow get to a payphone, call Emergency services, and hold on to ‘dear life’ until they managed to locate me – because I did not have a clue as to where I was. And even if they did find me they’d have to do so within the next few hours – because I estimated I’d be dead anyway by sunrise.

And then again, even if this miracle somehow DOES happen, there’s still the suspected radioactivity to consider. Already I could feel my DNA mutating, my genes shifting, my chromosomes doing whatever-it-is-that-they-do, my balls hurting… (Okay, so the last one wasn’t due to the radioactivity, so what?) Plus, I had nothing in my stomach – no food, no pills, nothing.

I’d once attended a camp at a cop-school when I was a kid. There was this guy with a deep baritone, and thick moustache who used to give motivtional speeches. I could clearly picture him saying, “If you are stuck in a situation, don’t panic. Do a quick S-W-O-T analysis. The solution will come to you.”

So I did a S-W-O-T analysis. This is what came out:

Strengths – Not enough to move the meteo-fuckin-rite.
Weakness – Too much and growing.
Threats – Death.
Opportunity – None, as far as I/eye could see.

No solution. Only panic setting in. Not good.

I tried other tacks as well – as many as I could remember. Scout camp, Survival camp, First day of college, Ragging, Office, Girlfriends. None worked. The last one did give me some momentary distraction, but then my balls began to hurt even more, so I decided not to get distracted – momentarily or otherwise. One thing all these ‘tacks’ definitely did was, add to the panic. Definitely NOT good.

In this entire process, what I hadn’t realized was it was almost sunrise. And my estimates had been right. Another few minutes and the first rays of the sun would pierce the horizon and I’d die a slow, painful, burning death.

In the last few minutes of my life, I thought about how ironic it all had turned out to be. Just a few months back, I was twenty-four, extremely successful, the hot-shot guy with the hot-shot car, rising up the ranks like nobody’s business. And then like any other fairy-tale, I met this hot chick, fell in love with her and we decided to get married.

So far, so good.

Now with 20/20 hindsight, I could see that the signs were there all the time. I just never noticed them. For example, she used to say, she liked me the way I was – twenty-four, young and hot-blooded. I thought she’s was being understanding & sweet. We’d meet only at night, but I attributed to her being a nymphomaniac. I even remembered having secretly thanked my stars back then!

So, when she said those fateful words, I should have realized right there and then that it would all end in disaster especially for me. I had the peculiarly extreme hematophobia, remember??

But, I did what I did, and I have no regrets about it. Especially now, that I am about to die.

They say that the best way to kill us is to drive a wooden stake through our heart, or shoot us with silver, or stuff garlic – into us or around you. I was always careful to avoid any and all of the above.

What the heck, at least I’ll die doing something my ‘new-found’ brethren would never do – watch the sun rise.
—–

:)