Murder

(Pic from https://pixabay.com/)

“Get hold of him.”

“He will not be saved today.”

“Get away from the way, rascals.”

“Get hold of him.”

Some ten young people were running in a narrow lane shouting at one another. All of them were in their mid to late twenties. A six feet tall, fair, handsome looking man was leading the gang. He was one shouting “Get hold of him.” All of them were having open and loaded guns in their hand. The man leading was holding Webely Scott four five - five calibre revolver and rest of the men were holding country made three knot three single shot pistols.

It was a narrow cull – de – sac lane. People on the lane ran for their shelters and those who were at their home shut their doors and windows. There was a pin drop silence and everyone could hear those men running. People were peeping outside from their windows.

Four young men were sitting at the door of their house and were bantering among themselves when they saw those men coming towards them. They ran and “Clinkk”

The first shot was fired from one of the country made pistol.

“Who fired. He is mine. Nobody will fire another shot.” The leader shouted.

"I will show him today what power means." He roared while running. 

Speed of the four guys slowed as they looked back with the sound and the group reached them. 

Four people grabbed one of them and stroke him hard. 

“Run away you bastards.” One of those men threatened the rest of the three. They ran for their shelter.

The gang leader dragged the fourth person by his collar. There was a rectangular space at the end of the lane. There were houses all around that space and there was a well at the centre of the rectangle.

They dragged him near the well and forced his head down on the elevated edge of the well. The leader put the barrel of his gun on that man’s lobe. 

Webely rammed for six time and there was blood all around. Those holding that guy had blood and pieces of his brain on their shirt.

The gang leader roared and threw his body inside the well.

Residents of the lane were witnessed every single moment from their roof top at the mid of afternoon.

The gang ran towards the concrete wall of cull – de – sac and scaled it. They jumped over the other side and within minutes vanished in the crowd near the railway track. 

Within minutes siren of police vehicles echoed that lane and the team reached there. Followed by them came journalists, forensic experts, ambulance and crying members of the killed man.

Everything was so perfect. Everyone was doing ones job with utmost perfection and there was nothing to grudge for. Everyone knew that the gang will be arrested and booked by the law sooner than later.

It was only I who thought “Ah, humanity died again.”

I am still thinking "Has the power really been showed?" 

“Silly me!” 

Oh, my musings. 

Utpal Kant Mishra 

Mumbai 

Sep. 22, 2016 

P.S: This work of Fiction is being linked to #BlogChatter @BlogChatter for #MyFriendAlexa Week 4. This is my Musing ‘aloud’.

The New Dawn (Continues)

In the month of June we had our convocation and on the same evening we had our farewell party. This was the last day I met Nisha and that too like strangers.

It was still dawn when I stepped out of the cab and walked towards the entry gate of the Delhi airport. The early morning February air was pleasantly cold.

I was travelling to Bengaluru to attend a college friend’s wedding. It had been four years since we graduated from the same college. This wedding was also going to be a reunion of our batchmates. But what I didn't know was that the reunion would begin much ahead of time; right in the queue in front of the airline counter. 

I was almost sure it was she. Same height! Same long hair! Same complexion! Curiosity had my eyes glued to her. And then about 60-odd seconds later, when she turned, she proved me right. My ex- girlfriend stood two places ahead of me in that queue. We had never met after the college farewell.

Our eyes met again but this time it was all different. When she was not an Ex, whenever our eyes met we felt livelier but today our eye contact has given me a cold feet. 

We kept standing frozen for a few minutes trying to compose ourselves.

“Excuse me” the person behind Nisha murmured. 

We were not yet composed enough to notice the movement of the queue. The person ahead of Nisha had already cleared his formalities and it was now Nisha’s turn.

“Oh Yes! I am sorry” Nisha murmured and moved towards the counter.

“Oh shit! I was almost sure and not fully! It was just four years back when I could have recognised her from anywhere. Is this me?” I was musing, surprised, while she cleared her formalities. 

“Times change so fast” I was thinking “It is true that with time feelings do change”. I had heard this lot many times but this was the first time that I have realised this. 

I had never been philosophical ever in my life but I don’t know why I was becoming like one, at this moment. “Is it really the time that changes or is it us who do?” 

Utpal Kant Mishra
Mumbai

P.S: This write is linked to Half Marathon 2016 by Blog Chatter, This story is a work of Fiction. In this part lines from "It was still dawn ..." to "We had never met ...." was the prompt of the author on which this story has been written. Day 10 #Blog Chatter

The New Dawn

I entered the Café Coffee Day outlet at Barakhambha Road in Delhi. This is a quiet place despite being situated at one of the busiest roads of Delhi. The first thing I noticed; as soon as I entered the shop; that it was having nicely maintained room temperature which was extremely comforting during an afternoon of May. As soon as the glass door of the outlet shut hydraulically, the outlet became free from outside noise. It was a nicely decorated outlet with pictures and posters depicting the theme – ‘History of coffee’ on the wall. The outlet is more in length than in width which is spaciously decorated with small round tables with three to four chairs around each table to accommodate the patrons. On the right hand side were two three seater sofas with rectangular tables and on the other side of the table were two chairs each for accommodating a larger group. During this time, the outlet is relatively having very few patrons inside and I noticed Nisha sitting at one of the right hand side sofas.

“Hi! Is everything good with you? I am just worried. Why have you called me here?” So many questions I hurled at her before I could sit on the chair in front of her.

“What would you have?” She asked me directly.

I gazed at her in surprise “What happened? You are sounding cold.”

She kept silent so I just went to the counter and ordered a Latte for myself.

“Today one year is over,” She plainly said.

“One year! One year of what?” I exclaimed in surprise. 

“So you forgot and this is what I was expecting” she said in a firm voice and continued “I have to hear from you what you have decided about our relationship. We had decided to talk about it after one year and so today is that date.”

I was wondering how meticulous females are in remembering the dates.

“Nisha! You know my family background. I need to settle down in my life first and then only I can marry. Can’t you wait till that time?”

“Define your notion of settlement and how long is this going to take?”

I was answerless.

“Amaay! I can’t keep on waiting for an undefined time. I also have a family and a background. I waited for your answer for one year after having discussions with you and you forgot that discussion also. I have been with you from past five years and you have still not made up your mind! We both have job offers and our convocation is due next month. What else can make you feel settled?”

“Nisha! I just need some more time. That’s all I am asking for.”

“A year before you had to say this only Amaay”

“I need time, Nisha”

“I don’t have, Amaay”

There is a deep silence.

“Amaay! I can’t give it more time. Let us move on.” She said tearfully in broken voice and stood up.

“Please don’t go …….. “ I said in a husky voice.

 We left separately with tears in our eyes. 

(To Be Continued)

Utpal Kant Mishra

Mumbai

P.S: This write is linked to Half Marathon 2016 by Blog Chatter. This is the first part of the story and the story will continue. This story has been written on the prompt of another author and it is a work of Fiction. Day 9 #DailyChatter

Ardhnareeshwar

'Are you sure, Rhea?' asks my mother.

'Of course I'm. Survival of the fittest, mother. I'm not going against Darwin. Also I don't want unnecessary scars on my body.'

It's a known fact that we are all born to die. And frankly, I don't understand why it has to be made into such a big deal. If it were not for my mother I would have said that to the bunch of people outside my house, some of them with young kids, shouting slogans, waving placards, literally wanting me to cut one of my beating hearts out. "Save A Life. Donate!" they shout.

For someone who is one in billions, 7.125 billion to be exact, I expect to be treated better. Scientists are still befuddled regarding my condition that gave me two hearts in my mother's womb. But years of research and sticking needles into me have led them nowhere, and they have labelled me as a freak mutation. It's so rare - literally one in all humankind - that they didn't even name the anomaly (as they call it, I will call it awesomeness). I wanted to name the condition myself, something on the lines of Rhea's Heartsawesome but the doctors aren't thrilled with the suggestion. Instead they want to cut one of them out and save a life. Huh?

An IQ of 180, increased concentration, exceptional athleticism and a phenomenal metabolism rate - are just the few boring benefits of an increased blood circulation. Why would I ever give that up?

My mother has kept her gaze on me.

“Moreover, I refuse to be their Guinea Pig anymore.” Unsure of what my mother’s gaze mean, I said adherently to put forth my decision. 

Thankfully at this time my cell phone rings. My phone is kept on the centre table of our sofa and the five and a half inch odd screen is quite visible to her. The caller’s identity is on the screen and it reads “Dracula”. I didn’t pick the phone.  

“Who is this Dracula, darling?” She asks smiling.

“The hospital guys, who else? Every time I am there, they insert needles of different size and shape and take my blood and tissues out.” I said sarcastically.

“What is this call for?”

“They had an appointment with me today and so they must be calling for confirmation from their Guinea.”

“That’s ok, Rhea. Take the call and tell them what you have to say.” This was so assuring of her.  

I know she is with me and I have her consent. The phone rings again and this time I pick it up to answer Dracula.

“I wold appreciate if you cancel this appointment.”

“All right, which next date you would like to have?”

“Well, I will call and fix up myself.”

“But Rhea, you know your doctor is not available all the time. Would you like me to give you dates when he is available, so that you could plan accordingly?”

“I am sort of busy now, I will call back myself.”

I cut the unnecessary commercial discussions short. Anyway, now that I have made my decisions and I know that my mother is with me, all this was useless. I wonder why she is always with me.  

“Hm, Bye Mom! I will see you in the evening.” I pushed myself hurriedly toward the main door.

“Rhea, we need to discuss on this honey.”

“Yes Mom, we will keep on discussing this whenever you would like.” I rushed back and hugged her and again rushed towards the door. I just want to be out. I am feeling too light today. I have never felt like this before. I feel I have many more hearts pumping. I want to fly, I want to be with flowers, trees, sun everything. I am feeling bliss”. 

“Beware Rhea, they are still outside.”

“Don’t worry mom! I am not going to mess with them.” I raise both my arms in assurance and with her smile I open the door.

"Save A Life. Donate!" the sound became louder and they try to encircle me.

I kept my head low and pushed myself ahead out of the crowd. I wanted to say a lot of things to them but I kept silent for the sake of my dearest darling, my Mom. I would have said “I want you to suggest me why shall I let one of my beating hearts being cut out. It is only a couple of days when I read the news that a man was slapped a bill of Twenty Five Lacks of Rupees for his heart transplant. TWENTY FIVE LACKS! It is freaking when thousands are dying for not having their basic necessities meet. The one who has donated his heart, which is now beating in this man, has given it out of compassion and your people have made a business out of it. Does he or the team that has transplanted know how many more days it is going to beat? May be a day or for another hundred years. How does that matter? Life and death both are immaterial, what is important is the deed and to do a deed; that matters to mankind, one need not keep on living in his temporal body for years. You should have been there with your placards. But no, you are here. I am not here for business of yours people. I have my business to do for which HE has sent me here. Excuse me till I am alive. Do whatever you want or take whatever you need after I am dead. Tear my body, burn it or bury it, but till I am alive let me be with what I have. It has been enough for me with scissors and needles.”

A few minutes’ walk and the shouting are gone. I can now go wherever I want. “Where shall I go? Ah, let me first have some time to think where to go. Yes, I need some time after all these years. I have been alive all these years and now I have to live. A coffee will help.”

There is a park on the opposite side of the coffee house. By my last sip, I knew I want to spend my time; at least for today, at this park with nature breathing some fresh air and enjoying my new found freedom.  

I crossed the road and started spending time with lush green grass, green and red leaved trees, flowers and birds. I started imitating birds’ voices and without realising I started to sing. I am finding rhythm in everything. Some people around were laughing and some smiling at me but I couldn’t see them. I was inside me. There is nothing but music all around and I could feel the entire universe inside me. 

Suddenly I realise that there is someone else with me, inside this internal Universe.

He is a lanky guy with slightly pigmented complexion. Among all he is different as he is also immersed in his own self. He is wearing a beatific smile and he is muttering something. At times he is raising his hands and with hands he opens his eyes. I could see epicanthic fold in his eyes that are making it appear small and slightly tilted. I could also mark his shoulders slightly slanting towards his front.  He is sitting alone on one of the benches in the park and there is lot of space to adjust two more people. Something inside me stirred and induced me to go and occupy the same bench.

“Hi”

“Hi”

“Rhea”

“Rehan”

“We are sounding similar names.” I said.

“Yes, with some juggling in your letters and adding one more for me.” He smiled.

“I am impressed with your sense of humour.”

“Really, but I am not supposed to have this.”

“WHAT and why?” I was surprised to my wits by his answer.

“Because I am not like you, I am a mutation as they say.”

“The Freaking Mutation you mean to say, in which something either is increased or decreased!”  

“Yes, how do you know?”

“Alas! I thought I am the only one.”

“What has gone increased or decreased in you?”

“Oh! I am an increased case. I have two hearts.”

“Oh! I too am an increased case. I have forty seven chromosomes instead of forty six.” 

“WOW, Wow, wow! So we can be friends.”

He shakes my hand in the gesture of friendship. His touch mesmerised me not because it is the first time I am touching a male but because of his extremely soft hand, caring touch and honesty in his touch. I am a woman and so I am gifted with the sense of touch. We kept on chatting for long when he says

“It is getting late. We must go. It is not safe these days, especially for women and that too when you are a freaking mutation.”

“Are we meeting tomorrow?”

We decide on time and we left for our home. I am feeling elated today. I have got the newly find freedom, dealt with the resistance successfully and met a friend today. What a day! I feel like calling this day as “the day of liberation”.

Mom was sitting at the same place when I entered my home. She reads my smile on my lips and a blissful peace on my forehead and sighs. 

“Good evening, Rhea. Did you have something to eat?”

Now I remember what I was forgetting the whole day. It was The Food. Mom brings me the food and we sit together on the dining table.

“So Rhea ….”

“I know mother what you want to talk about but can you give me a few days?”

Days kept on passing, Rehan and I kept on meeting on regular basis. I have found him to be loving and honest person who belongs to a well-educated and reputable family.  This was the same park but another morning and we are sitting on the same bench.

“What they call your mutation, Rehan?”

“Doctors and Scientists call it Trisomy 21 and common people call it Down Syndrome.”

“And yours, what do they call?”

“They failed to name mine one so I named it myself. I call it awesomeness. Isn’t it great? Trisomy 21! Down Syndrome! How boring. Why don’t you name it something interesting, Rehan? 

Suddenly there was a glow on his face and he became excited like a child “Yes, I will call it wholesomeness.”

“Wow! Now it is interesting. Awesomeness and wholesomeness! We both have something extra which no one else has.”

I see his glow waning and sadness wearing his eyes.

“I wish, I did not have this extra. I could also have been like others. The normal ones.” He continues “You know Rhea, The doctors and scientists wanted me to be killed when I was in the womb. They had their fear of my having severe heart problems, growth problems and mental retardness. But my parents held on. The school I was admitted in threw me out as they felt I needed special attention and the speciality school I was admitted in did not give any attention on me. I have seen my parents’ breaking down every now and then but they never gave up. They had their faith in me. My father took me to another country, by joining a low ranked job, just to give me what I deserved, rather needed. There I got it, my education, not the way these normal people get it but the special way.”

I sensed his confidence getting low and I intervened “And you became an accountant today. Moreover, now you have got your first acting assignment in the commercial movie and you have received in numerous awards. So, where is your metal retardness and what about your heart?”

“Right, they know intelligence and map IQ but they know nothing about multi – intelligence.”

“Can you list me some other mesmerising downsides of your mutation?”

“I have mild hypotonia and I have learning disabilities, as they call it. My heart didn’t develop any serious conditions as per their expectation.”  

“So what did they say then?”

“They said, they don’t know. Everyone is different and they cannot predict anything. What they know is that we have some extra chromosomes and then they have some statistics of theirs. Every case is being added in this statistics making them even more confused. You know Rhea, we are mere Guinea Pig for them.”

“Bang on, Rehan! This is what I want you to understand. They think that this freaking mutation is happening for the first time as either they have their eyes closed or they pretend the same. Mutation is rule of change and advancement. From gargantuan they became humans as they appear today. Being insecure with our development, Huh! They fear dissimilarities. Fear of unknown. How unromantic of them! They are content of seeing similarity day in day out.” 

  

I am seeing his confidence coming back to him and I continued.  

“You want to see freedomness, oceanness, boundrylessness, liberationness and many others?” Come with me. I hold him by his hands and almost drag him. We board an auto – rickshaw and reached “The Happening”. This is one society where I am found when not with Mother and Rehan. We are nurturing and nourishing our kinds of people who all call mutation without extracting them economically.  

“You know Rehan, 1 out of 66 births in the world today is Autism, 1 out of every 700 births in USA only is Trisomy 21 and that too after senseless abortions, then there is cerebral palsy, Monogenic, Thalassaemia, Fragile X Syndrome and many more that they know. Then there are many like me who they still don’t know. Here, we have given ourselves our own names. Will you be my partner in helping them attain their mutational maturity where they learn to overcome their so called weaknesses and form a new world within this world, through my intelligence and your heart?”

 

I see Rehan resurrecting and feel as if he is naming this moment as “The Awakening”.

 

“Rhea, they say my mutation is Infertile and …..”

 

I hold his hand hard and kiss him on his lips. He is melting. My mother and others watch the breeze going serene, birds being stagnant, music flowing in the universe, the sky and the entire galaxy becoming witness to this moment. Our matter is melting. He kisses me tongue to tongue and everyone witnesses new mutation happening. Matter is dissolved and ethereal molecules are mingling to generate one entity. Awesomeness and wholesomeness are becoming one. Here up-rises a bold and beautiful “The One”. Half part female and half male in one. Rhea and Rehan! 

“Ardhnareeshwar”.

Utpal Kant Mishra

Mumbai

Disclaimer: This write has been written on a prompt given by another Author. First few lines till "Why would I ever give it up?" is the prompt. Further, this write is a work of pure fiction.

Striptease of Time

Striptease of Time

Image: Idea go / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

“Striptease”……….. !!

All eyes must have caught a bold glance of this word. It is a very covetous and most of us get conscious with the mere mention of this word. Some become so very conscious that they even tour Bangkok and other such tourist place. But it happens every day in front of us and we do not even notice this happening and this happens to all of us.

In the lush green campus of Patna University when there was cacophony everywhere a guy was walking alone immersed in his own world and oblivious of all noises and distractions. He was probably floating on the air towards the banks of river Ganges.

“Vipin ! Vipin” and he become aware that somebody is calling him from behind.

He stops and by the time he could turn around Milind came near to him breathing heavily. 

“Oh Yaar Vipin! What were you thinking? I have been calling you since you entered the gate and you made me chase you like anything.”

“It’s ok. What is so important?”

“Nothing you lost idiot. I just felt like jogging and so was running behind you. Stupid “ 

“Ok. Ok. Hang on. Get your breaths back to normal. Let us walk towards Kaali Ghaat (the name of one bank of river Ganges inside the college campus)”

“Fine. Let us walk, but tell me what was that you were thinking all about which has made you lost?”

“Nothing as such yaar. I was just thinking about how to use Input - Output Model in the context of an Individual firm.”

“Oh, I was expecting only such kind of thing from you Mr. Brain Brawny. Do you have anything else apart from Economics and Literature in your life Mr. Uncle?”

This was what Vipin was. He was considered to be among one of the most brilliant students of Economics in the University and a person of varied interests ranging from Literature to Music and which also did incorporate Debates and other extracurricular activities. 

In short, he was a perfect example of moronic impractical. 

“Yes, what was so important that you were running behind me?” After seating themselves besides the bank Vipin asked to Milind.

“Yaar, we all need your help” 

“What? My help? What’s up dude?” 

“Nothing much buddy. It is Just a little showdown.”

“Showdown! Hey, what is all this? I am not the game.”

“No, No Vipin. You are no where. You are not the game. This is us who are to play. We just need you to support us by creativity.”

“Hey, hang on. What is all this? First you explain to me and trust you me I am not going to be in any kind of your mess.”

“Hey Guys! You all are sitting here and we were looking for you all around.” Satish, Praveen, Ramakrishnan and other of the gang joined in.

“Guys, I was asking Vipin for his help for the planned thing and he is not agreeing.” Milind has said this to all in a tone like India TV is broadcasting Breaking News.

“Yaar Vipin. Come on. Don’t be a spoil sport. We just need you to write something for us. It is only you who can write good among any one of us. We need just this much favor from you, for friends buddy.” Praveen said. 

“Hold on! Hold on! What is this that I need to write for you guys? Will somebody bother to tell me?”

“A simple and plain Love Letter” Ramakrishnan said it simply and plainly.

“What! A love letter” are you guys nuts? And by the way to who?”

“Yaar, will you do this for us or not? We asked you thinking you are our best friend and here you are asking so many questions. Do you think we are going to play some kind of punk with you? Let us go guys, seems he does not trust us.”

“Wait a minute! Wait a minute! It’s ok. If it is only a love letter I will write. But tell me who is going to give this letter to who.” Vipin tried to cool all his buddies.

What a paradox! Vipin’s day did start from Input – Output model and was now hovering to Love letter and that too without knowing for who by whom. But Vipin is ready almost to do this. 

I told you, he was a perfect example of moronic impractical. Wasn’t I right?

“Ok! You know Manisha”

“Who Manisha?”

“Hey Mr. Economics, the hot babe in your department, man.”

“Ok! Yes. “

“She has taken a fight with all of us, and so is this the show down”

“Hang on! Is this love letter for her”

“Nopes! For all the girls in her group”

“Lord! What is this? How can there be one common love letter for all the girls of the same group”

“That is why you are called Mr. Intelligent”

“What shall we do"

“Write a letter that seems to be a love letter and ends with befooling”

“Great idea! So do that for us Vipin”

“Will you guys hand over this letter in person to the ladies?”

“Nopes! We have got all their postal address” all smiled mischievously.

“Ok! I write this for you guys, but I am not the game buddies.”

“Ok Vipin. Rest assured you are not the game”

The letter is written

“Dear …….

I don’t know whether any one has told you before or not but you are the most beautiful woman God has ever created on this earth. You are the final definition of beauty of the creation and Love of the nature. 

If you can trust me, I have fallen deep in your love and I could not perceive a life devoid of you. This is one reason why I do not loose upon any opportunity having a word with you and believe you me your voice comes to me like the finest mid notes coming out of Sitar. Have you ever marked that you are not keeping your feet on ground but on your every step I lay my heart for you to walk on.

This reminds me, why don’t you change your sandals? Have you ever seen how torn are they? Which brand do you use? They are just torn flat and sound like prit – a - prat. How disgusting? Next time when you go to shop buy Bata and please do not expect me buying you one as I am like always out of pocket. I hope you were glad for a while walking on my heart but excuse me, I have kept it for some one else who I am sure you would not be interested in knowing and nor I will be interested in telling you. Look at your noses. They are so red like you have just smelled a chilli and so do I expect you to stop reading his nonsense and go to the washroom to clear them off.

Lovingly Yours…."

A week later the Principal of the college was frantically looking for the mischief but thankfully he didn’t go to the police. Not because of his benevolence but because of the fear of the parents of the Girls. The gang thanked the pusillanimous parents.

“ Striptease !” When it happens to us we do not know how to react. The striptease of time soaks all our adrenaline and leave us feel helpless; howsoever powerful one be.

So the gang was out of the college well settled except for Mr. Intelligent, Vipin. He started working with the private sector that too of Indian Origin. One can imagine what repentance path God has chosen for him. What else can be a better hell than being born in India and working in a private firm of Indian Origin.

So, one fine day his lady boss afraid of his intelligence handed him a letter which read like this”

“Dear Mr. Vipin

It is really an honor having you in my team and no doubt that your contribution has made my team the best team in the industry.

But, as you know the recession has eroded the maximum share of market our company will not be able to take the load of so many employees for the time being.

We as a token of appreciation are giving your dues with all incentives that you are entitled for with this letter and as soon as this recession will be over we would be working together again.

With best wishes.

Yours Sincerely…."

With soaked adrenaline Vipin moved towards his home to make calls to all his college “buddies” for help knowing no body will either pick up the phone and if mistakenly anyone picks up it will be of no use.

I hope Striptease now is not that covetous to you for your ogling eyes.

Good Day

Utpal Kant Mishra

Mumbai; March 29, 2011

A Lazy Bone

http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=1674

“will you like to wake up Sweetheart” ! The always euphonic and rhythmic voice of my wife with a gentle touch did ask me today also.

“unhhhh ….. Noooo, a little later” I muttered and skidded deep in my cocooned world of dreams again.

“The day is about to end honey, wanna get up now”! I later realized that this sound has echoed after more than couple of hours.

“What’s the time”

“Only 11 AM”

“Oppssss…..” I sprang up feeling headache which was nothing but the aftermath of over – sleeping.

Not far away I used to wake up at 6:30 in the morning and this is the same I who forces myself inside the bed as if I never want to wake up again.

I am thinking now that this forced laziness is a by product of lack of desire to struggle any more. In fact not the struggle but deming of the hope that “My Day” will also come and I will come clear with the achievement for which I have laid more than forty Years of my life.

Strange is the phenomenon of the state of mind. We all are normal to the extent that we all believe to be normal. But all ours normality is subject to certain abnormalities which if under certain societal boundary line is not considered to be psychological. But every normality has certain abnormality imbibed in it.

My abnormality has become chasing the success. I have even forgotten what success I am chasing for. Is it money, is it position, is it stability, is it family or is it something else. But in all my normality I am chasing success and the more I am chasing it the more unstable and unsuccessful I am becoming.

“Good Morning Mr. Mishra!” Every morning it is this voice of Ms. Yamini greets me and this is one voice that I hate the most. Circumstantially, my chase has landed me with this present so called boss of mine and so is my obligation to be greeted every morning with this voice every day. On top of the world I am forced to hear this voice by giving her a call from my side as first thing in the morning. I hope God will forgive me for this sin of making him number two in waiting to be remembered.

“So, what’s up for today”, as if I will be divulging something as RAW Chief briefing Prime Minister everyday morning. “Why not this, what happened to that, good…., ok……. Let’s see, brief me of your day in evening again…….” And with all this I not only feel but also do jump inside my bed again. Tired and Jejune before the day could have started.

The “Corporate” routine of mine is going to schools, meeting the management, taking all shits from them, catching up local of Mumbai back to home thinking how productive or creative was the day, and this is what I am expected and ordered to do everyday. This is underlined “Duty” read “Fundamental Duties” of Part 1V A of Indian Constitution for me.

If 14 years of my chase has given me this than I am sure to be lazy enough to leave my bed.

So, my day starts with “ I will be going to Schools. Say 4 Nos, will be co ordinating with the team and will try to close up some deal as soon as possible”. Mechanically these things come out of my mouth considering the cheque to come the next month.

As an average Indian after double masters degree from anonymous Colleges one is expected to only one thing in their rest of lifes “Worry about next month of pay cheque” and religiously checking every years February End the Budget passed by the Indian Government whether any relief has been given to us kind of children of lesser god, knowingly that there will be nothing for us in there.

“Ok! Fine Mr. Mishra ! Everyone suggests their product is good. What is so different with your company? Let me know what “benefit” we will get if suppose we go for your Product.” 

One of the School Principal’s asked me this thoughtful question without asking or even knowing about our product and offerings. I realize that after all they are the builders of future brains of this country as ours have built us and so they might have got some kind of premonitive knowledge about rest of the unsaid things.

“Sir, we will provide all and every kind of service better and more than any other players in this market” I replied with a beatific and meaningful smile on my lips.

“Ok! So let me have a word with our Directors and as soon as they be free we will keep your Demonstration amongst them. Keep in touch Mr. Mishra and by the way you are an experienced person.” He replied with similar smile on his lips.

“Oh … Really! Good Mr. Mishra. Let us hope we get some business soon. This will help you also Mr. Mishra. You know you are still short on your Targets.” The evening call which I did make to Ms. Yamini did sound this. Wondering what was good in this all I cramped on bed dry and jejune. 

I wonder if this is what I had to do why did I spared long years in cramming degrees of Maters in Economics and Master of Business Administration. These things can be done even by if not illiterates than by an school drop out. Now these degrees sounds alien and geek to me and I ask myself did I really do these? Why? I am getting toasts for drudgery and so if I wouldn’t have wasted time on Education I would have been having this same toast in at least BMW 7 Series.

Mumbai’s sultry weather never make me this tired as my everyday plight do make me, which is more mental than physical.

Though mental I am normal in the parlance of all normal people walking on the streets. I only imagine Mangoes in winter and lotus in desert. Nothing abnormal about it till I only imagine the things and keep them with me. The day I start speaking up some Psychologist from anonymous or known college will be having their toast with top up cheese being paid from my otherwise loan stripped pocket. For the sake of my poor pocket I am feloniously making them feel their degrees geek too.

“And the next person on the Dias is Mr. Mishra the famous philosopher writer……..”

“Ufff …. You are still sleeping. Good morning darling and I am moving to my office. Get up now”. 

 The same euphonic and rhythmic voice of my wife with a gentle touch realized me that again I am dreaming late on a working day in bed.

Good Morning ….. !!

Utpal Kant Mishra

Mumbai; March 27, 2011