Apocalypse now

Amidst the rumors of impending doom
Amidst ever pervading gloom
Waiting for Death to take its final bow,
I wonder, is it really apocalypse now?

Where greed has grown, and avarice abounds,
Where duplicity and fraudulence breeds new grounds,
Seeing the manipulators, and the seeds of chaos they sow,
I wonder, is it really apocalypse now?

Where speech is stifled by strangulating strands
Where a pair of lips is silenced, by many heavy hands
Truth’s spirit wallowing in an all time low,
I wonder, is it really apocalypse now?

Not by earth-shattering quakes, nor by charring fires
Apocalypse is nothing but unrestrained desires.
The day temptation doesn’t make the conscience waver,
It will not be apocalypse now, but apocalypse never.

-Shivam

The Dialogue

The stage was set. And the crowd, set up. Expectedly, it consisted of his sycophants and cronies, and some real people who had come to entertain themselves with the fiction, served with liberal doses of false emotions. For most of the audience, it was a movie-worthy experience, for free. Not for him, though. Not for him, who silently climbed the building opposite the maidaan. He, who slowly opened a case and removed what he needed to. The stage was set. And so was the scope.

Shyam lied down comfortably and adjusted the sniper gun on his shoulders. The scope was focussed on the dias. The speaker, a Union minister known more for his scams than any real work in the office, was about to arrive. The elections were approaching and the customary farce of promises had begun. But this particular farce would stop that day, Shyam thought determinedly. And then, with a slew of cars riding on public money, he reached the maidaan. Shyam’s heart didn’t skip a beat. He was trained for more than this little chore of shooting a target down. And then, he came within the range of his scope. And then, Shyam took aim for his head and pressed the trigger…

“Stop! Right now!” Cold steel pressed on his back and boomed in his ears.

“What the hell…” Shyam muttered as he lowered the sniper, cursing himself for not ensuring proper clearance prior to his mission.

“I said put it down immediately!” Shyam slowly put the gun down and raised his hands.

“You bloody thug!” A punch flew across and was about to hit Shyam’s face when he blocked it, out of reflex.

“I am not a thug. I am an ex-Army man. Like you.”

“What?”

“Yes. I was in the security staff of another minister,” Shyam stated non chalantly.

“Then how dare you plan murder of our own leaders?”

“Because I saw something that shook me to the core. I saw the man I was protecting, doing a deal with some company. “

“So? They are all corrupt, we know it!”

“Yes, we all know it! But this deal would have ensured that the Indian army would receive substandard ammunition and bulletproof vests,” Shyam replied angrily.

“What?” he was clearly shocked. He didn’t expect the representatives of the country to fall so steeply.

“Yes. However, the company man suffered a mysterious accident that day and was never seen,” Shyam smiled wickedly.

“You bloody murderer!” the bodyguard smacked one across Shyam’s face, “You could have easily reported the matter and stopped it by constitutional means! You didn’t have to murder!”

“Constitution? Oh, you mean that book of codes that is being ripped apart daily by these politicians?”

“Yes, I mean that. And merely killing one of the politicians wont make you a guardian. It will make you a traitor.”

“A traitor? For protecting my own country?”

“Yes, a traitor! And I wont have a bloody traitor roaming aout! Not on my watch!” The bodyguard held Shyam by his neck and started dragging him.

“Wait, wait.. Officer, what’s your name?”

“Vishal singh.”

“So Vishal, will you save the skin of the man who wont think twice before selling the soul of our beloved nation?”

“Yes, traitor. I will. Because its my duty. And nothing ranks above my duty for me.”

“Are you crazy? How can you like serving this apology of a man?”

“Yes. Because its my duty,” again a flat, hard response coming from gritted teeth.

“Duty? Who are you working for? The country or this man?” Shyam was genuinely shocked.

“For the country. For the laws of this great nation. And as long as I am alive, I will not allow anyone to break those laws.” The grip around Shyam’s neck tightened a little.

A silence ensued for a moment, punctuated only by the amplified voice of hollow promises being dished out to the by-now-immune gentry, who had only come to clap and receive the free biscuit packets.

“You hear that?” Shyam asked, “That is the voice of the man who will not hesitate for a moment before killing you, and others of your ilk, just to serve his purpose. What difference would it have made if I had made a complaint? I would have been thrown out of the job, and goons set after me and my family. Instead, I left it honorably, collected my pension and shifted my family out of India. Now my actions here will not affect their future. I have ensured it. Tell me, what would your Constitution have given me? Pain? Anger? Humiliation? And this bastard would have walked out of the case, with a fucking clean chit, clean kurta and clean smile. No. Today, he shall not leave this place alive!”

Vishal’s grip loosened. Probably the traitor was right. Yet, he could not abdicate his duty, for which he was paid. That separated him from a barbarian.

“Only one bullet will be fired. Only one sound will be heard. Lets see who is faster,” Vishal said calmly, the calmness being the oil over the storm of his thoughts. Shyam smiled. Very few could match his skill at shooting. Probably Vishal could be one of them. With a nozzle pressed firmly at his temple, Shyam carefully took aim.

Only one sound was heard. And the gathered audience could only gape in horror as the shining white kurta of the orator was stained red, the stain slowly spreading as life ebbed out of him. While countless legitimate cases had failed to stain him, an illegal bullet by a traitor succeeded.

That evening, the news agencies confirmed two highly irregular events

1) A dead man with a sniper gun lay on the top floor of the building opposite to where the minister was standing.

2) The personal bodyguard of the minister, one Mr Vishal Singh had disappeared.

Who, after all killed the minister?

The Saga

THE SAGA

Listen o weary traveller,
listen o joyous revellar,
I tell thee a story,
a story of a man,
whom the world called insane.

Scores of centuries ago he was born,
for him the fate had always been a thorn.
He had a burn on his hand
and people ran away from him, as if he were a fiend.

For he was a man,
whom the world called insane.

He grew and grew in age,
But had no knowledge how to even turn a page
His mother profusely beat her head,
"Oh, why didnt he die the day he was born?", she said.

For he was a man,
whom the world called insane.

One day, he saw a man wielding a sword,
so well that he cut through the thickest cord.
Awed he was, he asked the man to teach,
But greeted he was with a loud screech!

For he was a man,
whom the world called insane.

Determined, he decided to learn,
for days and days, his hands bore the sword's burn.
All looked at him and smirked
his antics just had them irked.

For he was a man,
whom the world called insane.

Days flowed to months, moths to years,
He soon conquered all his fears.
His sword breathed fire with steel,
He fought and fought till his skin begin to peel.

For he was a man,
whom the world called insane.

One day, not so fine, the peace of the town was shattered,
a wild mob had the towns walls battered
People ran scurried away, cowards they were,
This man stood firm, havinf known no fear.

For he was man,
whom the world called insane.

"Come on you fiends!" he roared
His power quivered event he wild horde.
He stood alone, and fought, till blood dripped from his hands,
he fought like a madman to protect his lands.

For he was a man,
whom the world called insane.

Ah! A sword cut through his back, an arrow pierced his eye
he continued to fight, drenched red.
Last, the horde was reduced to but one man,
The fighter snarled at him, like insane.

For he was a man,
whom the world called insane.

A battle, so fierce, that none had seen
blood and guts were seen, where humans had been
The horde was defeated, by one insane man,
Alas, he staggered to death then.

The people came out of their homes,
and celebrated in the street
They felt so proud of their strengths,
As if killing the horde was their own feat.

They erected a hero-rock for him,
whose wits they called to be dim.
They worshipped the man,
whom they called insane.

So, that was the end of that,
o weary traveller, o joyous reveller,
Thank you for hearing this tale.

-Shivam

Waiting

Waiting

Dingy and dark looks the sky,
The horizon, betraying of light
Prolonged, oh, so protracted
Is the spell of the nigrescent night.

Anticipating eyes, anxious faces,
Keep gazing at lands far away,
Waiting for the first ray to burst forth
A Godsend is all, for whom they pray.

Little do they know,
That their harbinger has come,
With open eyes, they sleep,
Not knowing what they can become.

How long shalt Thou take, O Man?
To seize the control of Your fate?
You are filled with energy enormous,
And yet for a hero, why do You wait?

-Shivam

Golden hour

*Golden hour*

He clutched his head and fell on ground, speech slurred, and half the body paralyzed. She waited for an hour before calling the ambulance. "He will be paralyzed for life, and will have amnesia of varying levels," the doctor said. She nodded, head hung in shame.

From then on, Dr Smita never got beaten by her husband, who now, follows his wife's every instruction like a child. It is as if they are truly in love after ten years of marriage.

Dissociation

The Dissociation

A perfect life- well, that’s an illusion most of the human beings chase throughout their lives. What they do not know is that they are merely chasing the metaphorical gold at the end of the rainbow. Little do they realize how disappointed they will eventually be, when they won’t find their promised paradise. Well, this is not a metaphysical discussion on the finer aspects of happiness, of course! But allow me to indulge for a while. No? Okay, let’s meet a fascinating person to begin our story.

Ruttuja could feel her heart thumping. He was coming! It was only the fourth time that they were going out, but he had swept her completely off the feet. It wasn’t his liquid eyes, which spoke a lot, nor his silken voice or his gift of words, but his mere aura when he would sit beside him had made Ruttuja fall head over heels in love. As a psychologist, her mind should have analyzed him more. But love is a feeling that transcends the mind. It had all started six months ago, when Shyam had walked to her and asked her the address of Connaught place. It would not have been strange and funny if they were not standing right at the Connaught place itself. Realizing his foolishness, he smiled sheepishly and mumbled forgiveness. And then, he suddenly turned back and asked her to join him for a coffee, as he was alone. A nervous Ruttuja replied that her boyfriend was waiting for her.

“I know you are single, alone and half-thinking of joining me now,” he said calmly, his liquid eyes piercing into hers. He was right, and half hour later, they were both laughing they time away, sipping cold coffee and chocolate milk shake. It was the beginning of their story. It only progressed further over the next two meetings, at Connaught place again, when they slipped hands into one another and locked eyes, gazing at each other for long periods until their eyes started burning.

Ruttuja glanced at her watch. He was late, again! He had this annoying habit of turning up late and changing her annoyance into love. And she could feel it blossoming again as Shyam alighted from his car and walked towards her and embraced her tightly. It was one of the most secure and safe moments of her life, being in the strong arms of someone she truly loved.

“I love you, Ruttu!” Shyam whispered in her ear as he put her down.

“I love you too sweetheart!” she cooed back.

“Listen, I want to marry you!”

“What?” Ruttuja was shocked. She didn’t expect him to talk of marriage so soon. She was yet to inform her parents about Shyam.

“Yes, I am serious. I will be transferred to another place soon. And I don’t want to leave Delhi without my love.”
Ruttuja considered her options. Convincing her parents was not an issue. They would not stop her if they found Shyam to be a decent, cultured man that he already was, and with a fat pay package that he already had. But she needed to be sure of it first. Oh, if only she had Netri beside her. She would have known what to do. But, the mere thought of Netri brought out tears from her eyes.

“What happened darling? If you are not sure about this, lets not do it,” Shyam said, wiping her tears.

“That’s not the matter honey. I am missing Netri, my best friend.”

“Why? Where is she now?”

“No more. She was brutally murdered by her ex-boyfriend last year. I can still see her face, her beautiful face bloodied by that animal who cut her head off! She hadn’t shown me his photo either. Wanted it to be a surprise. And now…” Tears welled up in her eyes again.

Shyam sat down. He knew it would not be appropriate to interfere. He kissed her on the forehead and said, “Sweetheart, probably she will guide you from the heavens above. Ask your heart, and it will give you the right answer.”

Time passed, nay, flew by. A fortnight had passed since Shyam’s proposal. Ruttija finally mustered enough courage to ask her parents. As expected, they first asked about Shyam’s job, his pay, his family. Ruttuja replied that he was an orphan, and worked in a multinational company with a five figure salary. The credentials seemed to satisfy Ruttuja’s father and he told his beaming daughter to call her chosen one for lunch the following day.

“Hey Shammu!” Ruttuja cooed.

“Yes, Ruttu!”

“I talked to dad, and guess what? He has agreed to meet you tomorrow for lunch!”

“That’s really great, Ruttu. I am confident our relation will go all the way!”

“Me too, sweetu!”

It would be too much saccharine to describe the meeting between the prospective father-in-law and the prospective son-in-law. But, sticking to the traditions, most of the laughs were artificial, most smiles fake and most compliments appeasing. However, it is the expected behavior and usually, the conventional stands a chance in the society of the unthinking. To cut the long story short, Ruttuja’s father gave his consent for the relation and the engagement was fixed a week later.

The stage was set. The partners-to-be were ready. She was blushing, he was beaming at her. Shyam didn’t have many friends in Delhi except his room partner at the apartment. It he who had selected the engagement ring. Soon, Shyam fished out the ring and was about to slide it down Ruttuja’s finger when there was a sound of the police siren. Soon, ten-odd policemen entered the hall and pointed their guns at Shyam. Shyam was too dazed to move. It had all happened too fast for him. Just as he was about to speak something, another man, this time in plain clothes, entered the hall in a wheel chair and pointed a shaking finger towards Shyam, and said, “Yes sir. He is the one who murdered Netri and maimed me!”

First there was silence. But, just like the impending rupture of a volcano, it was soon broken by a mayhem. Everyone was at their feet, trying to escape the scene of indictment, as if it were an infection that they would catch if they stayed a moment longer. Unfortunately for them, the police had sealed the area and no guest was allowed to leave till the arrest of the culpable was made. The culpable, in this case, was Shyam. No, probably he was someone else, according to the man on the wheelchair, “His name is Vishal!” he shouted, still the accusing, trembling finger pointed at the bewildered fiancé-to-be.

It was not a pretty sight, most certainly not, having to witness a man in tuxedo being handcuffed and dragged to a jail, with his engagement ring still in his hands. But, such is the travesty of fate. Shyam could only look helplessly at Ruttuja whose eyes spewed fury, shock and grief. Shyam’s parting words were a plea to Ruttuja, “Please save me Ruttu! I am innocent!” Expectedly, she didn’t pay any heed.

After two days of arduous and torturous questioning, to which Shyam gave the same answer, “I do not know anything!” he saw his horizon of hope in the form of Ruttuja. She walked up to the inspector and stated that she wanted to meet Shyam in private. The inspector had all the reasons to refuse, but could not stand the determined stare in her eyes and the badge of the government approved forensic psychologist in her hand. “Only ten minutes,” he mumbled, before letting her in his cell. Ruttuja indicated the constable to close the door of the solitary isolation room.

“Shyam, I need to talk to you.”

“Trust me Ruttu, I am innocent. I don’t even know that person, or your friend, except on the day you spoke to me about her.”

“I know it Shyam. Thing is, you have suffered from something the psychologists call dissociative fugue.”

“Fyoog? Whats that?” a somewhat confused-looking Shyam asked. He had heard the word for the first time in his life and didn’t even know how to speak it.

“Yes. Fugue. In this condition, following a traumatic event, a person forgets his past, and wanders to an unknown place, assuming a new identity,” Ruttuja spoke through gritted teeth. It was mentally impossible for her to accept that the person she was loving was not in his true self, but an imposter of his own self.

“But…me? What event?” Shyam looked thoroughly confused. He preferred the tough questioning of the police to this psychological jargon.

Ruttuja took a deep breath, battled a few tears and continued, “You are Vishal. Vishal Singh, a resident of Delhi. I talked to that man in the wheelchair for two days. He told me everything. He was your best friend, Prateek.”

“What? You mean, I am not Shyam? You mean I am someone else? And if he was my best friend, why would I maim him?”

“Yes, Shyam…er, Vishal. Now, please hear me out very carefully. You were having an affair with Netri, my friend, and you were about to be engaged. One day before the engagement, you decided to pay a surprise visit to Netri’s place with a bouquet. It was there that you found her in the bed with your best friend, Prateek. Something snapped within you, and your eyes showed an unseen madness, you picked up the knife and…and…” Ruttuja could no longer hold back her tears. It was too much for her to imagine her beloved Shyam decapitating her best friend and stabbing the leg of Prateek, maiming him for life, before running away. It was a disorder she had only studied in college, but living it was a different matter altogether.

“Ruttu, I have no memory of what happened. Please, help me. I even do not know whether I committed the murder!” Shyam pleaded.

“You did commit a murder Shyam. But, we will have to ascertain whether you did it in your right mind.” It was the most excruciating moment for Ruttuja. She was about to make a plan to save the murderer of her best friend. But deep down, she believed that Netri deserved to die. She was about to call off the engagement the following day as she had found, in Prateek, a much richer man. And she also knew about Shyam’s history of depression, fully aware that any such action on her part would send Shyam into suicidal depression. Unfortunately, something opposite happened and both Netri and Prateek paid for it.

“But how will you save me? The inspector kept on saying something about a cognizable offence, meaning I won’t be able to get bail either!” Shyam asked worriedly. The new developments had him worried. He still didn’t know how he had killed his own fiancée and maimed his best friend, or why would her fiancée sleep with his best friend. Life had suddenly become very complicated for him to understand.

“I am going to ask the Inspector-in-charge to allow you to spend just one night with me. And before you think of anything naughty, it’s for our hypnosis session. We will know the truth in the hypnosis. I am here by appointing myself as your official counselor,” Ruttuja spoke as she was leaving the room. After an interminable wait of fifteen minutes, the constable came into the room and told that Shyam was free for the night. Ruttuja was very difficult to beat in persuasion. He knew it by experience.

It was close to nine at night when they reached Ruttuja’s place. She was alone, as her parents had gone to their relative’s place for dinner. Ruttuja had not told them of her plan. She didn’t intend to marry Shyam anyways. But she wanted to see that justice was delivered to him in the correct manner.

“Now, Shyam, I would like you to lie on the couch and close your eyes,” she began. And then, the rest of the night panned out in an interesting way. What happened was much different than Ruttuja had thought, and she would probably have only her uncontrollable urge and instincts to blame. It would be too dreary to write about it all, and too impossible for me to expect that you will pay attention to every word of mine. The next day’s headlines, however, said it all:


The new Bikini killer strikes again after 6 months. Victim is a forensic psychiatrist.

Mocking Monologue

The Mocking Monologue

Knocking at my door, O, you persistant,
Will you break it down, O incessant?
Oh! You want to talk, to parlay?
Or just want to incite, fight, and flay?

Who are you, O model of insolence?
Why do you promise me your consolence?
Why do you try to jerk your tears,
While massaging, glorifying, enhancing my fears?

Ah! So you want from me, a vote?
And will it really shore up your sinking boat?
So, you offer me what I dont even need,
and expect me to fall prey to my own greed?

Corrupt you are, greedy no less,
My country, you have made into a glorious mess
And yet, I believe your promises, no matter how hollow
For I am from a herd, my leader I follow.

Yes, for you, my mandate goes every single time,
For, I dont really care a single, single dime.
Intellectuals like me, can only raise a cry and hue
And to run the nation, we only have people like you.

-Shivam'da'