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  • Ram 3:04 pm on April 19, 2015 Permalink | Reply
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    The Waiting Room 

    imagesPriyanka was all drowned in sweat. She was perspiring. God! What had happened to her? It was spine chilling cold in her  air-conditioned office. The office, that  she was so used to, day and night. Rather,day shifts and night shifts for four years till now. Life hasn’t been the same when she landed on this job after graduation. An IT career, her parents dreamt of. Infosys was her dream, for a girl from a far away smaller city like Salem. She got what she wanted. Her parents pushed her out of the house as soon as she graduated, and talked with pride about their daughter, to all their relatives. ” You know, my daughter Priyanka is at Infosys. We are looking for a handsome bridegroom.Horoscope work is in progress” her Dad would say this to his cousins when they came home. Her mother would have a proud grin always, as if she had won a lottery. Priyanka’s pals were taking their afternoon break, and here, she was all alone staring at her blank PC screen.

    She was a goody-goody girl so far. Just casual chats, no serious stuff with any guy until yesterday. Rahul. Yes. Rahul was the guy who was causing all this sweat. The tall and handsome Rahul, whom everyone at office was willing to kiss in public. Her friends at office would jump into his lap once he arrived, and sip coffee with him for hours together and exchange pizza bites just to taste his lips. This would happen so often that, Priyanka would get annoyed and would just close her eyes when he arrived and concentrate on her laptop. Rahul had called her yesterday and asked her for a date. At first she just froze. Why me. She wasn’t close at all. It was surprising that he got her number. There were so many cute girls waiting to jump into his car. She was not “Fair and Lovely”. She was above average, but presentable. Ok..She was different. Rahul had asked her to wait at the lounge at the ” Tonic Bar ” at 7 pm. She felt odd. She was there a couple of times with her friends, but wasn’t familiar with the place. It was close to her office, though. It was 6, now and couldn’t take it anymore. Waiting here was the same as waiting at the Lounge. ” Why not be there early, so that this whole thing would get over soon” she thought. She took a break, and took out a few cleansing wipes and touched her face. It was so cool. Refreshing.

    She left her office quickly, before she got confused. So if it’s going to be Rahul, why not. It was only the girls who were after him. He was not. He just chatted. That’s it. He was smart, handsome and if it’s me, he will be my trophy. The Tonic Bar was a small place. Mostly the IT crowd flocked there. Noise and laughter mixed with hiccups was all one could hear. She took a comfortable sofa and dropped down. The graffiti in the wall in front of her was screaming red. She told the guy who came to take orders, that a friend is coming in half an hour and she will wait until then. The guy smiled, and left. It’s so scary to be in a bar without drinking she felt. So many guys and girls were talking the truth. After a couple of shots, it was “truth time”. True emotions, feelings, lies, bullshit, all poured out in each table. She felt like recording the conversation’s, because she knew it would all change the next morning. She set her gaze, moving her eyes all around. “Holy cow”. It was Rahul. What the… What is he doing at that corner table she thought. It was only 6.30 and here he was, talking to a waiter , so close to his ears and pointing his finger to a cocktail glass on the table. The waiter nodded his head vigorously and Rahul smiled and pressed something into his hands. The waiter was over joyed. Why didn’t he call her and tell her that he would be early. Her mobile vibrated now and started dancing in her handbag.

    It was Rahul. ” Hi. Priyanka, Sorry , I will be a bit late. Be there at 7.30 at the lounge. OK. I’m at my cousins place. Damn. This traffic is annoying” he said. “I will be there soon”. Wow. He had mastered the art of bluffing. She was screaming inside but concealed it elegantly. He was a con guy. So, Mr.Rahul was right here, and was giving her the “cake”. She quickly gathered her thoughts.  His waiter buddy was busy chatting with him. Her heart was fluttering but  she was smart enough to understand, the finger signal by Rahul. They were planning to spike her drink when she arrived. May be after a few rounds. Then….Then, he might even carry her to his car and head straight . Straight to his apartment, or a Hotel. Who knows? Her heart was racing now. It was worth the wait. She was lucky to be early. Early enough, to know the real Rahul. She quickly, but silently got up, turned her head slowly, and dashed her way to the exit. She wasn’t noticed at all. The dim lights came to her help. The wait was finally over. wowbadge______________________________________________________________________________________________ This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. This week’s WOW prompt is – ‘The Waiting Room’ Waiting rooms are a pretty common sight, being ever present in many places. In the doctor’s office, at train or bus stations, at airports or in universities. You might have been directed to a waiting room before your interviewer was ready to meet you. Waiting rooms not just denote a halt, but also a transition, don’t you think? What are the stories that can take place in a waiting room? Write a superb blog post on ‘The Waiting Room’ as soon as you can, because we can’t wait to see your entry!

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    • Viyoma 11:39 am on April 20, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      Interesting…dark side of the charming professional. The character of Priyanka is well sketched.

      Like

  • Ram 6:09 pm on September 16, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , Game Of Blogs, ,   

    Team-By-Lines-Chapter-5 

    bylines-logo

    Read the Fourth chapter here.

    The incessant caressing of the sunlight trickling in through the curtains awakened Tara. Taking a deep breath, she stretched and with a smile got up from the bed. The other side of the bed was empty. That meant that Shekhar was extremely serious about his ongoing project. Listening at the study room door, she heard Shekhar snoring away to oblivion. Tara allowed him to sleep and walked towards the kitchen to begin a new day.

    She had breakfast with Cyrus and Roohi. Silence reigned in the room as all of them were preoccupied with their own thoughts.

    “Do you want me to drop you at your law firm?” Tara asked, breaking the silence at the table after they were done with the food. “It’s on my way.”

    “That would be of great help. Are you sure? I don’t want to push that on you,” Cyrus said.

    “Mumma, that will be awesome. We haven’t even talked much yet,” Roohi shouted in glee, happy at the prospect that Cyrus would accompany them on their dreary morning drive to school.

    Cyrus grinned seeing her enthusiasm and Tara joined in.

    Getting up, Tara left the plates in the sink, and humming a tune, kept the Casseroles with food on the slab. She then wrote a note for Shekhar.

    “I just wanted you to comfort me

    when I called you late last night you see

    I was fallin’ into love…”

    Mark Anthony was crooning from Shekhar’s Smart phone in an attempt to wake him up. It was not a success and his phone slipped into snooze mode.

    After an eerie five minutes that were filled with silence, Marc Anthony started singing again. The volume was loud enough to wake even his semi-deaf-aged neighbors, but Shekhar was sound asleep and the song died again.

    Mark Anthony succeeded the third time.

    Shekhar woke up baffled and was disgusted that the dream was broken. He was almost at the end of his intriguing dream. If he had slept for another few minutes, he would have had enough material to add to his already spicy manuscript. He cursed Mark Anthony before turning off the alarm. Tara would have left for work. He would have to explain his absence to Tara in the evening.

    He sat up to face the crimson red wall opposite to the study couch. The color had been chosen by Tara. Contrasting with the bright color, the other walls were painted with a buttery yellow shade. As a result, the room appeared quite bright and in Tara’s own words, “The brighter colors can keep one active.”

    “Hello!”

    “Good Morning Sir! We are calling from SR Chimney cleaning company and…” “Wait! What? What time is it?” He looked at the wall clock on which the heart-shaped pendulum was swinging in full mood. It was just half past nine. He felt enraged. “It is half past nine and you want to call me for cleaning my chimney? Just get lost and don’t disturb me ever again.”

    “Sir, the service we are offering you can be quite beneficial for…”

    Shekhar disconnected the call before he could even complete. Why do such people even exist? Wouldn’t he call if he need his chimney cleaned? By the way, did he even have a chimney in his house?

    After the fury towards the disgusting salesman evaporated slowly, the purpose to why he had slept on his study couch dawned on him. He jumped out of his couch cum bed and rushed to the study table.

    The last morning’s scene had repeated.

    Ashes were lying on his table. The manuscript was gone; again. He could not believe his eyes. What the hell? A teardrop escaped his left eye as all his hard work had again turned to ashes. He could not comprehend his own feelings. It might have been an amalgamation of anger and pain. He gathered the ashes in his hands as his body shook with silent sobs.

    “How the hell is this happening? I was alone in this room,” he thought aloud. Rushing to the cupboard, he pulled it open. There was no one hiding in the cupboard. He looked beneath the sofa cum bed to the same result. He searched the entire room to find if anybody was hiding anywhere, but in vain.

    He threw his books, piles of A4 sheets, staplers, pencils and emptied all the draws in anger. Shekhar’s face turned a pale shade of yellow. He cursed himself and his typewriter.  All his efforts were lost.

    He really needed a coffee now. Things were going out of control and he could not understand anything. Upon reaching for the doorknob, he found out that the door was unlocked. Did he forget to lock the door? No, he had locked it; he was positive about it.

    Splashing his face continuously with cold water, Shekhar tried to regain his composure. He had typed almost twenty pages yesterday and had written until three am in the morning. Whatever he had written the previous day had been fresh in his mind and had been easy to put down on paper again. He had added five more pages to it.

    He brewed some coffee but didn’t feel like adding milk to it. He wanted it strong to jolt his senses. A sip of the strong black coffee solaced his mind a bit. He had no idea what was happening. Walking back to his study room, he collected the ashes and threw it in the dustbin. He noticed then that a page was fixed on the typewriter. But he usually never left any paper on the typewriter once he was done for the day. Puzzled, he pulled the paper out from the typewriter. It was empty but for one word.

    The single word that was typed in capital letters screamed – STOP.

    His coffee mug fell to the floor with a loud thud and a dark brown stain slowly began to spread over his cream hand-woven carpet.


     

    Read the sixth chapter here


    “Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at BlogAdda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us.”


     

     
  • Ram 8:30 pm on August 17, 2014 Permalink | Reply
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    You are watching 

    wowbadge

    “You are watching the news hour tonight, and with you is……………..” Click. Enough I thought. I shut off the TV and threw the remote on the bed. It was 11pm on August 14th, and the nation was waiting to hear the PM’s Independence Day speech the next day. “No news is good news”, I mumbled. The mindless chatter of spokesperson’s  from various party’s went on their usual daily grind, throwing daggers at one another. Wasn’t this a daily spectacle conducted by most of the TV channels? Gosh. What a waste of time!

    I switched on the FM radio to catch up with some late night melodies. From one idiot box to another music box, if I may call it. Nowadays melodies have been cast aside for the 11 clock slot, when the nation sleeps. I tried a few FM stations patiently and settled down for 97.2. The slow Tamil numbers from the 1980’s were like lullaby’s. I was half asleep….” Vikram. “Vikram”. A clear and bold female voice jolted me as I woke up and opened the door. To my surprise there was no one. I wondered, if it was the ” news effect”. I knew it. Seeing so many channels I felt a bit confused I thought. Again the voice “Vikram”… This time I knew the source. It was from the FM radio. I felt dizzy. I went close to the speaker and listened. ”

    The voice said ” Vikram, this is Mother India”. What ? I jumped. ” Yes, It’s me, Vikram, she said. Don’t you idiots know that this is the sixty-seventh year of our independence. I am fed up of seeing so many channels  showing the flag hoisting on independence day, year after year, state after state. All you guys just assemble and salute the flag for a day and then carry on to do your lousy work. It’s sixty-seven long years Vikram.  I thought you guys would take this wonderful country to a place of envy. You say you have so many cell phones, set-top boxes, TV sets, online shopping, so many new cars on the road. It’s of no use.

    I have chosen you Vikram, to voice my outburst. You are going to be my knight in shining armor. You will be bestowed with special powers from me. I am going to give you the power to implement policies, change the rule book, implement new ideas, build bridges, lay new roads, hmm.. you will be armed with all the knowledge to govern this beautiful country. You are the chosen one. So don’t waste time sleeping. Wake up to a new tomorrow and be ready to hear me everyday, same time, in the same FM channel. It’s Mother India broadcasting to you and only you. See you tomorrow

    I pinched himself. Ouch. It was real. What the sh…? Am I the chosen one. Out of so many millions. I safely unplugged the radio and kept it inside my desk, my hands shivering with excitement, waiting for 11 pm tomorrow.

    _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

    This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

    Write Over the Weekend inspiration for this time

    It is the night of August 14th. You are sleeping peacefully until a lady, who identifies herself by the name of Mother India, wakes you up and starts talking. What does she talk to you? Come on, get your creative juices flowing, rack your brains and go crazy with your fantasies! We are awaiting best creative blogs from you! This time, make the WOW badge yours :)

     
  • Ram 12:03 pm on April 26, 2014 Permalink | Reply
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    Nameless Island 

    Lalith Gyaneshwar  buys an Island in Bahamas to make it nameless“…

    “The headlines screamed and echoed in as Vikram read the “Times of India”, this morning. What the heck is wrong with this guy? Buying an Island is not an everyday joke. It seemed cranky as he read further with curiosity. ” Lalith Gyaneshwar, the well-known NRI businessman from India will hereafter call himself LG. He has purchased this island to keep it nameless. Yes. He has invited people from all walks of life to be a part of this virgin island. He has offered them beautiful luxury villas with all amenities one can dream of at a reasonable price. The only million dollar condition is that people inhabiting it will be nameless. They would be known only through their initials. There would be no religion nor any religious activity on the island. They will be allowed to follow their own religion inside their mind, and let me say that again inside their mind only.

    a-private-island-in-the-bahamas-is-on-sale-for-85-million-the-island-spans-38-acres

    It will be an out and out a non religious society, with no names. Quite funny. LG ( Lalith Gyaneshwar ) wanted it this way. He wanted to keep religion and the communal forces from interfering with people in their everyday affairs. It will be just human interaction…..”

    Vikram closed the paper and his mind wandered with so many things. Crazy guy this LG, he thought. Then he laughed for a second. If India can think of this…. “God.” A land of many castes, divisions, religions, taking its toll in our daily life. From Kindergarten to a government job…So many names, so many states, so many communities….Mind boggling.

    Vikram smiled as he stood up, and wished LG all the best for a different cause.


    wowbadge

    Write Over the Weekend theme for this week

    Invent a hot and sensational news headline and write a story about it this weekend.

    This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. Every weekend, we give out creative writing themes to rekindle the love of writing in all you creative writers. Island image – businessinsider.com

     

     

     
  • Ram 12:22 pm on April 9, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , book review of prisoner jailor prime minister, , hachette india, , , , prisoner jailor prime minister, tabrik c,   

    Prisoner Jailor Prime Minister 

      Tabrik C

     

    Book Review: Prisoner Jailor Prime Minister

    Author: Tabrik C
    Publisher: Hachette India
    Number of Pages: 319
    Price [INR]: 350
    Genre: Fiction (Political Thriller)

    The story evolves around Siddhartha Tagore, the newly elected Prime Minister of India. He is the wrong man in the most powerful place. He has his heart soaked deeply in love and Mozart that anything else makes no sense. I would have titled the book ” The Mozart Man”. Tabrik talks so much about Mozart in so many chapters that his music has set the tone in this fast paced book.

    Siddhartha Tagore is a difficult character to chisel. He has his own zig zag graph of madness, sadness, ecstasy, lust, sex, love and music all bundled into one. His emotions run riot at most times, and Tabrik has done justice in capturing them beautifully. From Harvard to No 7, Race Course Road, the story goes back and forth. Sometimes it appears a bit dull. The love story between Rubaya and Siddhartha could have been written more in detail, so that the reader could justify, Siddhartha’s deep love for her, much later, when she vanishes in an accident.

    The timing of this book is at it’s best. India is on the verge of a general election and the world is waiting to see the results. This book has been published when Indian politics is evolving, and a new breed of voters are getting ready to cast their vote. Lots of shots have been taken at political parties, some of them quite real too. Among all the characters in this book, Professor Gordon Thoburn’s amazes me. It took me by surprise. I am going to paste a picture of a Harley Davidson here. You know why? harley

    This bike has an important role in this book. That’s why. The suspense is really good at the end. The cover of this book brings the loneliness which Siddhartha faces in real life. It has been creatively done. On the whole this book is worth reading because, we humans have different faces, even though we fear to admit it. There are so many “Siddhartha Tagore’s ” all over India planted in the wrong place. Passion elsewhere and work somewhere. It brings about so many character traits hiding in all of us , sometimes rearing an ugly head.

    Refreshing read.

    Rating – 3/5.


    This review is a part of the Book Reviews Program at BlogAdda.com.

    Image source – hdw.eweb4.com and http://www.dailypioneer.com/vivacity/race-to-lead.html

     

     
  • Ram 3:08 pm on March 7, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,   

    Students ! 

    Location – A remote countryside school for the aged in northern India.

    Synopsis – A new and young English teacher, Mr. Rahul arrives from Mumbai to teach a batch of twenty students between the age of sixty to seventy.

    Rahul : Good morning to all of you. This is my first day at this school. I understand that you are all very nice, good and obedient students. That’s what, Mr.Panicker, your correspondent told me. You have all been in this class for a month. So, let me begin by testing your knowledge. Hmm. Your name Sir. ” I am Pramod, Masterji “, he answered. OK Pramod, come here and write the word KNOWLEDGE on this board. ” Me, Me, Me. Masterji.” There was a chorus in the class, but Pramod ran faster with the chalk piece, towards the board.

    12

    He wrote a really big ” NOWLEDGE”, on it. Rahul laughed. So, where is the K, in the word. Pramod said ” Masterji, how can there be a K in this word. Not necessary. It is Nowledge. See ” Nonsense, Nomad, Naughty”. All these words have no K. Rahul got irritated and said ” Students, we can’t change the grammar according to our will. So don’t write your own grammar. This word begins with the letter K. Understand. The class shouted in unison. ” No, No. It is not correct. You are a cheater teacher. You don’t know English. Let’s do the same thing, what we did to Pandey.Come friends. ”

    They ran to Rahul, and turned him upside down and tied him on the ceiling fan. Rahul was pleading for help. His mobile rang, and he answered it with great difficulty. ” Help. Help. What? Are you waiting for me in the class. But I am already in a class in the town street. What? It’s on the north town street. Why didn’t you be clear. Then what class is this. Oh God!

    __________________________________________________________________________________

    This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

    This time we’re aiming at making it more creative! Your post must contain a text conversation ending with someone saying “k”.

    image – custardy.blogspot.com

     
  • Ram 11:32 pm on February 28, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , , ,   

    The Chase 

    thechase

    This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

    This time we’re aiming to make it more creative! Your post must contain the word Friend and you have just 5 sentences to complete your story.

     
  • Ram 10:55 pm on February 23, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , , indian music director, indian music industry, , ,   

    The Debut 

    Pyarelal was breaking his head, inside his air-conditioned recording studio. He had beads of perspiration running all over his forehead. Still, no magic was happening. He had exhausted all his ideas in the morning and sent the CD to his director Ajay Panicker, but,  Ajay did not pick a single tune from the CD.

    Guitar-HD-Wallpaper-36

    He normally would call his music director and chat over a glass of beer. But today, he played the CD at home, and found it useless. He called Pyarelal and used harsh words. No one talks to Pyarelal in that way since he was a ” name ” in the music industry and in business for nearly twenty years. Pyarelal felt miserable, because Ajay was a director with only three movies, but all of them were mega hits, and his value was sky-high now. Irritating him would be disastrous. He had worked with legends, but times have changed now, he thought. Melody was out. If the lyrics were understood and audible, then it would be much worse. The whole song should be disguised intelligently. The digital age. Ha. His mind was racing. He had one option and only one option. He pulled the second draw in his cabinet and pulled out a CD. The cover read ” Demo by Arjun”.

    He called Arjun at once. “Arjun. You must be happy to hear this. Your tune is going to be born, but,  I am ashamed to tell you this. The tune will be in my name.  The whole world will be listening to it. Arjun. Don’t lose heart. Your day will come and the world will know. Thanks for your CD, and thanks again for agreeing to keep it that way.” Pyarelal was now a relieved man. He knew this tune will go through. He felt guilty, but, the only solace being, the secret remained.

    ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

    wowbadge

     This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.  Image – stuffkit.com

     
  • Ram 4:03 pm on February 16, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , objects coming to life, Pssst, , ,   

    Pssst 

    “First Aid Box. Check. Knife. Check. Spectacle Case. Check.”  OK fine. Got you all guys. Now, off we go. Pratap stored the items neatly in his backpack and ran to the privacy of his room. He made sure to bolt the door securely, and then switched on a single lamp. He opened the cupboard and took out a dark blue yoga mat and spread it neatly on the writing desk. He has done this before but today was going to be slightly different. He smiled for a while, and then opened the backpack and placed the first aid box, knife and the spectacle case on the mat, one by one.

    He then spoke softly. ” Guys, Come to LIFE. Come to LIFE……….” After a minute he could see the objects moving. Pratap was a psychic having a weird quality of conversing with any object. He claimed objects have life too. He tried to talk about this to his friends, but was ridiculed and laughed at, in College. After which he kept these experiments to himself. The first aid box was the jovial of the lot and whispered ” At your command Sir “. The knife and the spectacle case shouted in chorus ” At your command Sir “.

    hearingPratap was highly thrilled. ” OK, guys. Who do you think is the most important object among you. “Of course it’s me” said the first aid box.”I have everything inside me, in case of an emergency. “Ha Ha, you do. Do you?” said the knife. “Until I move an inch there won’t be any work for you, dumb box.” shouted the knife.

    ” Wait, Wait. What’s the fuss all about” said the spectacle case. He then whistled and said ” Come on baby”. Out came a pair of spectacles from the draw and climbed onto the table. Pratap was engrossed in hearing and watching this. ” So we are the most important here. Without us you cannot see a damn thing. ” Pratap was smiling again. ” Tak Tak”. Someone was knocking the bedroom door. Pratap shoved all the objects inside the backpack and rushed to open the door.

    ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

    wowbadge

    image from http://www.hcplive.com   This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

    This time we’re aiming at making it more creative! You have to write a post starting with ‘First Aid Box. Check. Knife. Check. Spectacle Case. Check.’

     
  • Ram 5:39 pm on January 10, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , , ,   

    WANTED 

    love

    This is a post for Blogadda “Write Over the Weekend” theme for this week.

    This time we’re aiming at making it more creative! Your post must contain the word Love and you have just 5 sentences to complete your story.

    wowbadge

     
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