Author: saikumarnayini

@13-04-18

If I knew the results , I wouldn’t have continued my trip. Stories that are placed to make my trekking, seem to be great. I mean, to end up on the top of 1778 meters high, it do require a perfect start.

From the Coimbatore bus stand to Poondi, I met a seventeen-year-old local traveler and told about his experience on trekking the seven hills. He said that this hill is famous and calls by the name ‘The southern Kailash’. Also said that as I am making my journey alone to the Shiva, it would give me a lot of blessing. On the ground, I saw a lot many people taking selfies with a 34 meter, half-eyed Shiva statue and,

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“I know you are looking at that mountain. Maybe I would give you a good look when I reach the top…” I said, and The Shiva seem to take it a little serious. A 23-year-old, who knew nothing knew about trekking might expect the journey to be picturesque. It would be if we make less effort to see the sunset with a camera having a perfect lense

With three Tamil friends, I started on the first hill with a backpack (Rug, Eatables and a novel). As one of them is a little fat, I’ve lost their track at the third hill. At the fifth mountain, It started to rain. And then, a bit more heavily. I couldn’t afford the thought that I would slip. I took the every another step I could and even after, there seem to be a little further.

And it came to me,

“Now that you are watching me and the fact that I’m alive to notice, I want you to stop the rain for us to meet…” I said to Shiva on taking a leap.

With a wet backpack that I haven’t noticed and my body pouring more sweat than the drizzle, I managed to say ‘thanks’ to the statue beside a rock. And all I’ve got is a half coconut, a banana and two pockets of ash. As for a reply, The Shiva seem to say, “It isn’t finished…”

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With a broken bamboo stick at one end, while the cold wind started to tell the horrific tales, I began to climb down…

-Cont’d…

-Thank you for reading…

@12-04-18

Everything is so perfect. The train that arrived at 12:20 in the morning and fortunate departure at the exact departure. The happenings inside the train are usual as in every Indian rail travel. On the way to Coimbatore,

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In particular, The president of mid-thirties commanded the air on the debate of politics played, causing the status of poor people even poorer. I often couldn’t believe how good the expressions become a great asset to a storyteller. He always adds the word, “Whether you believe it or not…” before any answer or for any statistics. He went on to talk about the attitude of Kerala people and opportunities in Bangalore. As the current in our compartment is a little dim, President went to talk to the local station manager and solved the problem.

I didn’t know that I would’ve to experience the most terrific moments of my life on 13-04-2018.

 

-Cont’d

-Thank you for reading…

the desperate editor (2/4)

On the third floor, I sat looking at the splendid view of the sixth hour in the morning. I could see the construction of a skyscraper that is supposed to be a publishing agency.

“I’ve warned you, Frank. I guess that your blood always serves a thick skull…” My friend continued on the phone, “Watch the news…” In fact, I wasn’t shocked. It was more of a comfort for an old man, who had imagined the worst.

“The kid of southern estate caught in the highway of…” Said a guy on TV, with rhythm.

“I think that there should be a trial for inheritance. This is..” A debate among the scholars. I knew that my days are numbered and my only grandkid would live the rest of the riches in ten years.

Upon the sun rising from the east, the golden light reflected from the third floor of the agency. He knew that it is impossible to change the kid and clever enough to figure out that he wouldn’t be alive to see the result. With the slightest ray of hope, he took a pen and started to write a letter.

 

‘To the most dedicated editor on the third floor,

I write this on the day of 2005, to reach you at 2015. I could see people working to construct your building. They even started little early on this morning.I hate to waste your time and also, I don’t have a habit to take favors.

I bought some shares for you in exchange that you find my grandkid and if he’s alive, I want you to change his lifestyle. I tried all the ways I could and on this morning, I thought to give you a story to edit. The remaining information to acquire the ownership of the shares will be found in the progress of your mission. I wish you with all my heart and a great fortune.

 

 Frank Nerovik

 

Cont’d…

Thank you for reading…

 

the desperate editor (1/4)

\\”This is a story of an old man, living through the last phase of life in a house made of paper and rocks until the fate began to introduce chaos and so, he was forced to make a deal…”\\

“Why does it take so long to end a sentence, for Christ’s sake…?” The editor said to himself. Rumors overweighed his obsessions and even tagged him with ‘T.D.E’.

“Do you know that he rejected ‘the pale man’ draft citing that it is too long…” The tall lady says to her friend.

“It is a bit long, though…” Her friend replied.

“Who cares… That went on for a best seller. What a huge loss to our firm…” She snorts back. As everyone began to push the trash to one person who can handle, the editor went on printing the dots.

Nothing unusual had happened in both his drafts and his life until the clock struck the 1500hrs on a warm day. A young man in yellowish-brown uniform walked inside the agency with an untidy hair. His nose seems particularly long if anyone had given a glance.

“Uh…Excuse me..” The ringing phones muted his tone, “Hello Miss, Delivery for your boys on the second floor…”.

“Who is it for?” hold phones in both her hands,

“To the dedicated writer on the second floor…” He reads the address on the envelope.

“I’ll take care of it.” She gives a smile and offers her hand. Upon the lovely gesture, the young man extends his hand and walks away. Assuming it to be a fan mail, she throws it directly into the bin. Sometimes a letter won’t need a name to reach the destination. All it takes is the lines that could connect the dots.

While some other guy came to use the bin, he sees the unopened envelope. He keeps it on his desk and while he decides to take the lunch, he uses a stapler to weigh it down. The office boy, who takes the stapler assumes that the letter is delivered to the wrong floor. When he reaches the second floor, his eyes misread ‘the dedicated’ and thus the post written by a stranger aged 10 years, flew into the hands of a desperate editor…

Cont’d….

Thank you for reading…

the bishop (4/4)

The room is filled with arguments and anger that filled along with it. I reckon that no other experience of mine could prove that the age could make some people grew furious. The good old ben shouted at the staff because that they didn’t cook according to the menu. He claims that it disturbs his day.

While I watch him mumbling little Italian, a square-bearded man blocked my view. He began to watch our game closer,

“You play really good, sir…” He said.

“I do…” But I could see that he wants to buy my attention.

“I’ve heard that you knew me…” he looks at me from the game, “I want to know how…”

“Is this one of Ben’s jokes. If so, tell him that it is lam…”

“It isn’t. I…” He got interrupted by the words, “He’s here,” uttered from a rushing short man.

A few instants made me realize that I actually saw a revolver tucked inside.

They sat few places away yet I could still hear them. It had been a while that I missed at being an audience. To be anxious as to how the story might unfold rather than to be an old man playing chess with an amateur.

After few minutes, a loud explosion shattered our building. The chessboard fell over and everyone except the Bishop and King stood on their feet. After a few inquiry, I found there had been a bombing in the neighborhood.

“You look a little nervous, boss..” The bearded guy said to the guest.

“What…?”

“We are supposed to be in that building…” The bearded guy says that he changed the venue at the last minute.

“You saved us all…” The guest continued, “well, this ain’t the first time…”

“Funny thing is that you always forget that your mail goes through me…” Beard pointed the revolver at the Guest. The short man took care of the excited young guard, who had played the chess a while ago.

“What are you implying…?” The guest found his lost voice.

“I don’t. The mail mentioned an address and says that to be beware of 15:40…” The beard continued, “I only tampered the message on the clock hour and now, you walk in here being upset that I wasn’t dead… “

“You don’t understand….”

“All these years of wasted loyalty on the wretched souls…” The beard raised to the revolver to the Guest’s heart.

“Bishop, I wasn’t going to kill you… Just for few…” Two shots were fired and the silencer worked perfectly.

I watched the murder in horror and into the eyes of Bishop,

“Well, you will never forget me….”

-The End-

-Thank you for reading…

the bishop (3/4)

Only poison that can infect the heart of a bishop is a thought of betrayal. He trusted enough to gamble his own life on many occasions. Now he began to think that his trust is wasted on a wrong man.

“I don’t get it. How come the boss is interested in such a deal…?” A short man with round head asked the bishop, with a hand on the wheel.

He remained silent.

“I never saw him visit any operation directly. You know what I mean,..” The short man continued, “He won’t even cross a damn yard…”

They drove to the location. Bishop looked at him and said,

“We will know that in an hour, won’t we?”

They went inside the two-storey building, in which elderly were living for the last of their lives. They were supposed to check for the safety of king’s arrival.

After ten minutes,

“Anything…”

“Nothing, a bunch of lying old hogs…”

“What.,” Bishop asks the short man.

“That old man says that he knows you. Also says that you once almost got him killed…” He pointed to an old man and a guard, who are busy playing chess.

“Check the backyard..” The bishop walks past him and says, “Let me pay them a visit…”

 

-Cont’d

-Thank you for reading…

the bishop (2/4)

“The idiots always spoil…” Bishop speaks on his phone while crossing the street “ These brats only step up to get themselves killed..”

The lane is dark except for the cigar lit by him. Being a bishop, his senses detected a stalker in a dark coat. The image zig-zagged the motion to remain hideous.

He trashed the cigar and aimed his revolver into the thick air,

“Alright, you’ve got my attention. Now, make your excuse freaking reasonable…” he waited for few seconds.

“I am…not here to kill you..”

“That ain’t reasonable for a stalker…”

“I..uh just want to meet you alone.”

“Then get your shady face into the light, will you ?”

The sight of a sharp nose and with a round belly, a man in 30’s witnessed before the Bishop.

“Well, this goes in one way. Say and leave in three minutes, okay… ”

“Yeah..” he continued, “The game is going down. I don’t know when but it will happen within a week. Though the politics is a gamble, It was the step taken to change the traditional perspective. There are orders to kill every player…” he began to explain his words,

“Careful now, Cowboy,” Bishop says, while the man reaches for his pockets. He takes a parcel and gives it to the bishop.

“I came to knew that you’re the only person to turn the events…”

“Time’s up, fellow. Keep walking…”

The man knew well enough that no one ever made the bishop to say twice. While he is leaving,

“The tomorrow is our enemy, bishop.”

Bishop began to walk with a parcel in his hands and swirling thoughts inside the head. He opened the parcel and saw the image of the two bosses in a bar.

“It is impossible, unless…”

Bishop never thought that the kings would make their own arrangements.

 

Cont’d…

Thank you for reading…

the bishop (1/4)

The bishop locked himself in the way of my queen, with the support of a pawn. The young guard is happy that he was tempted for a certain victory. He even forgot my thirty years of experience to tackle such situations and,

“There you go…Nice move, isn’t it ?”

To my defense, I was a little preoccupied with a thought. Chess is a game of patience. I know that he holds a leverage but I highly doubt that he can withstand the power.

On the evening of March the 8th and at the age of seventy, I sat playing chess with an amateur.

“Do you want to know about a Bishop in my real life ?”

“No…Now, you can’t trick with your stories…” he said, making a hand sign to make my move.

I told him one on our second game and my victory brought some complaints.

After seven minutes, when the timer between the moves took more than two minutes…

“A bishop, huh…” He looked at me.

Well, I couldn’t blame him as he probably never heard a story about a bishop.

“What do you about him..?” I pointed to his Bishop.

“It…ahh…. moves across and kills whatever, it can…”

“Yes, it is rather unused by many players but it is one of the most powerful players in the game…”

“I don’t understand..”

“Whatever the situation that he may face, he would never step out of his reasons. Either the black or the white, no one can intimidate him…”

“How did you met him..?”

“It was not exactly an official introduction. When I was of your age, the bishop almost got me killed…”

“Is it…?” His hand went under his chin,

“So, what did the majesty call his bishop…?”

I could see that he is calling my bluff but I decided to proceed anyway,

“Cristian Mihai…”

 

-Cont’d…

Thank you for reading…

 

the dead corpse (4/4)

We stared at the three barrels of rum, amusing the skills that took to bury them in the ground for so long. I say that they’ve done a  good job. After hours of digging that let nothing but an ounce of sweat, it finally surfaced at the verge of our hopes at the expense of a quitter. “What do you think ?” my partner asked looking towards the two boys.He lifted a barrel and waited for my answer.

And the boy with a brown skin took a steady pace, along with his friend. “Happy new year, sir…”

“Well, we shall see…” I said at the three on the ground level. The deal was to take one for each, but the fate intervened to quit our third partner. It also happens to set up with the two fortunate lads, less than five feet tall with those heads inclined to meet that of mine.

“You see that I am an honest man, even in this devilish business. Say that I’m kind and take three hundred rupees each…”

The boy looked surprised and,

“It is in my grandfather’s grave…”

“And you two think that it gives a leverage, boy. A week ago, you didn’t know anything about the place…”

“There is a word they call…” my partner stumbled for a word,” Inheritance…”

I took seven hundred and gave them to the boy. I gave an extra hundred just out of curiosity, to see how he shares with his friend, instead…

“We want a barrel..”

The boy finally said their extreme point of demand and my partner began to laugh.

“A barrel for a boy who barely stops pissing his bed.” My partner rhymed his words and I couldn’t resist purchasing a grin.

I went near him and,

“Are you a Christian?”

“Yes.”

“You do pray a lot, don’t you?”

“Yes, we do…”

“You get what thy deserves, don’t  you? I once read in your…”

And just like that, it happened.

After few seconds of confusion, the boy began to wear the grin. In fact, I would’ve done the same. A lazy kid in the neighborhood or a teenage prick might have lit a cracker, with either a tail in a wrong direction or to poke the graveyard. It came straight towards my partner who was carrying two barrels, and in his second of ignorance, he began to defend himself with one of the barrels. It only took a tiny spark for the long-awaited alcohol to suffice the thirst and thereby, it took the first shot at our drinks.

Four of us sat beside a tombstone and began to taste rum from the leaks, with smoke and sparks in the sky, slipping into hours of the new year.

 

-The End

-Thank you for reading…

#2017- the year of lots…

Somethings never change… Do they?

The enthusiasm that bakes your mood, while you have your favorite book in your lap, no matter the crackers that yell to pronounce the end of a year.  There is a lot to say about the year that gave us a wonderful experience, though the volatile memory could only remember a few of everything…

I ain’t gonna need an alarm to wake me at three in the morning…

I was happened to read the above line, in a novel that I didn’t recall the title. And it came as a desire to me, to live for those days. It wasn’t so hard and, I gradually found myself loving it. I began to wake before the sun and make enough things to inspire the day. It is as if you add something invaluable at the start of your day.

It is great to start a year with memories that are meant something for me and, I’d like to thank everyone for making it easy to say such things…

And also, I’ve started to write a script.

So, I say that 2017 is truly a year of lots…

-Thank you…