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THE GIRL ON THE TRAIN

Arnav couldn't believe how cliched and filmy the whole scenario was. In fact every time he'd seen something like this play out onscreen he'd groaned loudly, "Come on. This is so cheesy. Can't they think of anything else?"

And as if as payback for his scornful words Fate had made that very same scenario play out in his life. Only with him as the protagonist, it didn't feel cheesy at all, just agonizing.

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Home

He was back home.

Home. The name on the signboard was his. It was his signature on the monthly EMI cheques. It was he who had paid for the bulk of the furniture and appliances and gadgets et al that adorned the house.

They why did he feel nothing when he stepped in? No welcoming warmth within these walls, no bonding with all this stuff, accumulated over more than a decade and at the expense of a veritable fortune. But all that meant diddly squat.

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Waiting

 

And there he lay waiting on those who were never going to come back... a beat down senior Doberman... With nothing but bones and a broken heart...

They had promised they'd be back in a couple of hours, a promise they had made so many times before and always kept. No reason for Brutus (that was the Doggy's name) to doubt his doting masters.

 

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Sorry Darling

 

The first to apologies is always the bravest.

 The first to forgive is the strongest.

 The first to forget is the happiest.’

 Kiara had heard these pearls of wisdom a zillion times in her life. Only right now, in this moment, she didn't want to forgive. She couldn't forget. And apologies ka toh there was no chance only.

 

 

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THE DIFFICULT PATH

The path to victory had indeed been a difficult one for the actor, a path of loss and gain. It was a tale of determination, of just not giving up, of leaving no stone unturned to making his dream come true.

His dream of freedom. Of getting away scot free…

Indeed his efforts and those of his family and well-wishers and all those who had billions of rupees invested in him had begun the very morning after the incident.

 

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Mother

And then she said, "It was me all along..."

As he stared into her eyes, his heart registered no surprise. For hadn't he always known this truth? From the time he was a toddler of 3 months when she had first realized her son's gift, it had always been his mom making it all happen for him

 

 

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Unlucky at cards

The casino was air conditioned, yet he felt the atmosphere to be sultry- sweat beaded. A rivulet trailed a path from his forehead to his chest. Looking at the cards it was not his night tonight. Come to think of it...what was he doing there in the middle of his honeymoon. He should have been with his lovely bride, cuddling her, loving her.

 

 

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I saw her standing there

She stared glumly as one rickshaw after another passed her by without stopping, some not even deigning to acknowledge her existence with a look.

My heart went out to her, she was such a young, sweet thing, pretty too. But more than her obvious good looks was the sense of helplessness on her face, that aching vulnerability at being utterly at the mercy of cads who just didn't care and unable to do anything to change this pathetic position.

 

 

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Pass it on

Saira was angry nay furious. She could feel the rage coursing through her like red hot lava scorching down a mountainside. And much like the volcanic fluid that hungrily consumes and incinerates everything in its path, her system too was demanding a sacrificial victim to vent its explosive fury on.

 

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When a man's gotta do...

Much has been written about the great quests of man - the quest for love, the quest for money/success/treasure, the quest to find oneself, the quest to find purpose and meaning in one's existence.

All of which is great but the entire author, scriptwriter, storyteller fraternity has criminally ignored one quest that must rank as high as any of these above mentioned in desperation and passion.

 

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