From the window by her desk she could sense that the night outside must be chilly, occasional whiffs of cold air made her stop doing her homework and shudder. Then she saw him. His lean relaxed form sitting unobtrusively in his favorite shady corner of their housing society. She could see his cigarette's smoke hang around him like a halo of heavy thoughts. She loved to catch him in times like these. Hurriedly finishing her homework, she sprinted out to meet him.
He was a neighbour, at least ten years her senior. Probably more. Their relation should not be confused with love. She always treated him with wide-eyed wonderment and respect; and he was always condescending and patronising to her- like a teacher to a favorite student. She loved to talk to him. He was a man who'd seen the world; who'd been through a lot. Though he was silent by nature, she could always get him to open up. She knew better than to let his gruff and closed attitude intimidate her. All their conversations left him feeling light and her feeling enlightened.
His pony-tailed long hair was beginning to show first greys. His glasses were neatly folded and stuck at the neck of his shirt. As she reached him, she saw a paper in his hand. She gave him a smile and sat on a bench opposite the wall he was sitting on. He didn't say anyhting but stubbed out his cigarette as a sign of acknowledging her presence.
"What's that?", she asked wanting to break the silence.
"A letter", he said brusquely.
She could see now that it was handwritten, so it must be personal and decided against asking further questions about it.
"From home", he added as an afterthought.
"Oh", she understood, "They're asking you to come back again?"
He nodded. "A Christmas greeting card and a letter by my father."
She knew he seldom talked about his family, but she wanted to make small talk, so she pressed on.
"You could go, y'know. Your studio's not very busy these days either. Plus it's holiday season."
"I just don't want to. I haven't been to home since I left it five years back."
"But they're your family!"
"... you're a disgrace to the family, Dheer!" his father shouted at him. "I had warned you that I'll throw you out of my house if you fail once more! Why can't you be sincere like your elder brother?!"
His mother was on the verge of tears, as usual, "I told you! I told you he was falling into wrong company! Look how long he keeps his hair, he looks just like a regular gunda!", she began sobbing, "But he won't listen to me! Nobody listens to me!"
His father said, "Do you think it's something for me to be proud of that one of my sons is such a brilliant student and the other cannot even pass high school? What do you think Dharma says to his friends when they hear that his brother has failed once more?!"
And he just stood there, not meeting his parents' eyes, keeping his cool and waiting for it all to blow over.
"Come on! Answer me boy! Is it something I should be proud of?"
It was always the same drama in their household. Dharma was the bright and responsible older son and Dheer was the black sheep. He couldn't help performing poorly in exams, he did study, mind you, he tried real hard. But it just wouldn't stay in his brain. Where his real expertise lay was- music. He had a plethora of CDs, his collection was vast and varied, and his room was a jungle of recording/mixing equipment. He wanted to make music. Great music. And be famous for it one day.
But since this genius of Dheer's did not fit into the tried-and-tested framework of grades, he was usually in the bottom of his class throughout school and college.
When Dharma left for defence training, Dheer's parents were left with only one pursuit- nagging him. On his visits to home, Dharma's close crop was extolled highly in order to shame Dheer and his bush of scraggly, unruly hair. His disciplined lifestyle was compared to Dheer's late hours of work at a night club where he worked as a DJ. At times even Dharma would be moved to throw his hands in the air and say, "Leave him alone mum! You can see he's studying for B.com now!"
As for Dheer himself, his laid back and placid nature helped him deal with this treatment with blissful diffidence. After a long lecture from his Dad [with tearful interjections from his mother] he'd sit at his window and strum his guitar absently to salve things over.
And life continued on it's jerky orbit until the day came when Dheer was yanked out of his relaxed inactivity, forced to make a decision and never look back at his hometown.
"They make a better family without me, I guess." he said, returning to the present.
"That's a strange thing to say when you can see that they really miss you! Every call, every letter just begs of you the same thing- that you go back to meet them even for a little while."
She could only wonder how hard a heart must be to vow to stay away from one's own family. She had had her share of teenage angst and family spats but she could not imagine feeling anything so vicious that it would result in a five year long exile, like Dheer's. She was a bright and adventurous kid but her upbringing had almost always been an air-tight warm coccoon and Dheer's life and his past were out of her comprehension.
[unfinished].
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Saturday, October 18, 2008
The Special Cigar
After a hard day’s play, my friend Sid and I go back home, all the way from the park, rollerblading. My dog Yoda happily sprints by our side, usually.
Today, as I sat down on the park bench alongside Sid, to fasten my rollerblades firmly on my feet, Yoda seemed more excited than usual about our journey home. He kept jumping enthusiastically as though egging us to hurry up.
"Easy ol’ boy! What’s the matter with you?’ I said as I extended my hand to pet the large retriever. Sid looked on with his usual expression of contempt and incomprehension as I petted Yoda.
"How can you be so attached to a flea-bag mutt like him?"
Yoda turned his head to look offendedly at Sid. I laughed, "See? He’s so human!"
"If he’s human, I’m a kangaroo."
With that we got up and began skating towards my home. The euphoria of the speed, coupled with the rush of the wind against my face and hair- fed my teenage soul.
Skating next to me, Sid said, "Hey Al, your dad’s supposed to come home today right?"
"Yeah, father might be home already."
"Oh wow- what’s he getting you this time?"
"Dunno, depends- maybe he didn’t bring anything at all."
"Being in the Merchant Navy must be so cool! Where’d he go this time?"
"Romania."
"Ooooh! Wonder what he might have brought from there."
"If nothing else, then definitely a bust of some ugly ex- President of Romania."
"- or an expensive and ornate walking stick for that collection of his."
"- or maybe some cigars. Father loves cigars."
"- or maybe a gold-plated collar and leash for your clumsy cur!"
___________________________________________
"Hey mom! I’m home!"
"Good, go wash your hands and have something." Said mom emerging from the kitchen.
"Is father back yet?"
"Oh yes, and he went out too."
"Where?"
"He got a call from the office, so he left. He’d be back by tea time."
"Did he unpack? What did he bring for me & Yoda??"
"I don’t know, he did mention something- and I do think he began to unpack some stuff in the study- No, no, young man! Don’t you dare go blundering in your father’s study without his permission. Go wash your hands and have something first."
____________________________________
Not much time later, my curiosity got the better of me and I found myself creeping surreptitiously in my father’s study (followed equally surreptitiously by Yoda), without turning on the lights.
Near his writing desk, by the window, his suitcase lay open- revealing neat stacks of clothes and a couple of packages- the details of which I couldn’t make out clearly in the dark.
As I moved towards the suitcase to analyse its contents, my eye fell on a couple of things on the writing table, that my father had most probably extracted from the suitcase during whatever little unpacking he’d done before going.
A shiny silver carved paper cutter was lying next to a transparent case that held several singular looking cigars.
I picked up the cigar case and brought it closer to my eye for better view. ‘Hmm… golden- brown’. These didn’t look anything like other cigars that I’d ever seen. There were six of them and they sure looked precious. As I kept back the case, I was overcome by the desire to touch one of them and feel its surface. It seemed lighter than I’d expected and oddly rough.
I turned to face the mirror, for I wanted to see how it looked on me. But Oh! Woeful moment! As I turned, my foot hit the side of the suitcase completely unbalancing me- and the cigar flew from my hand.
Yoda, who was till now happily sniffing in another corner of the room, looked up when he heard me yelp- and on seeing something hurtling through the air in his direction, he jumped to catch it; like he’d always been trained to do.
But instead of holding it in his mouth, or keeping the cigar down, I saw him gulp and lick his nose contentedly.
Mortified I rushed towards Yoda. No, he wasn’t holding it. I scanned the floor- No, it certainly wasn’t dropped on the floor.
Panicking, I grabbed Yoda’s jaws and pried them open, peering inside. The poor dog’s mouth was just as a dog’s mouth should be (dog breath can kill you- so don’t try this at home).
Unable to get over the shock- I stared at Yoda in disbelief. Yoda stared back at me. "You big brute! You swallowed it! Father’s gonna kill me…", I muttered under my breath. Getting up from the floor, I grabbed Yoda by the collar and dragged him outside the study, hoping to exit as secretly as we had entered.
Mom had retired to her room and the kitchen was now deserted. I entred the kitchen and so did Yoda at my heels. "Now!", I turned upon Yoda with full fury; "You worthless animal! Retch it out!! Retch it out now!!". Yoda blinked innocently. "Yoda, my boy please!" I said beseechingly.
I got up and started massaging his ribs hoping this action to induce vomit. ‘What else can I do to make him puke? Give him water?’ No, I didn’t want the cigar to come out all soggy.
‘Who do I ask for help? Mom would surely kill me- she’d asked me not to go to the study,’ telling her was out of the question. ‘Sid!’ I grabbed my phone typed ‘cum over. big prblm’ and sent it immediately to Sid.
Fifteen minutes later, Sid and I were both sitting on the kitchen floor staring at the golden retriever (who was, nonchalantly, staring back at us).
"It went straight down, you say?"
"Yes." I replied glumly.
"So he didn’t chew it or anything?"
"Nope."
"Hmmm…" We were both thinking of the same thing. "He doesn’t look like he wants to puke."
"Yeah! That’s the entire problem!"
"But even if he does, it’ll come out all soggy and wet"
"We can dry it with Mom’s hair dryer or something- so that I can keep the cigar back without father’s knowing that I’d been to the study. I don’t care what becomes of the cigar, or whether Yoda keeps burping tobacco for a month; I just don’t want father to be mad at me."
"Let’s hang him upside down."
I looked at Sid irritatedly, "Can we talk about practical things here?"
"I remember someone saying that eating lots of margarine makes you puke. Do you have margarine at your place?"
"Hey, I’m sure we do!"
So another fifteen minutes later, we were still in the kitchen, having fed Yoda about half the margarine supplies in our groceries, we were looking for any visible symptoms of squeamishness. And to our disappointment, he was not showing us any.
He burped once, and our hopes arose; but he went on to lick his nose and continue to stare at us blankly. My exasperation rising, I shouted, "You ugly animal!! How can you do this?!"
"Let’s kill the dog and dismember him and get the cigar out."
"Oh c’mon, I don’t hate him."
"I still say let’s hang him upside down."
"Come on Sid! Be practical now! He’s never gonna throw up, and father’s gonna bury me alive. You know what he’s like. Why’d I ever go into that blasted study?!"
I had stood up in my agitation, but now I came to sit next to Sid, all hope ebbing away. The future seemed bleak, and finally I broke the silence, "Let’s hang him upside down."
The kitchen didn’t seem the correct place for such a ritual- so we went out to the deserted backyard , a reluctant Yoda in tow- the poor animal, most probably had a presentiment of our intentions, and thus seemed hesitant to follow us out.
"So how do we go about it? Do we need something?", said Sid.
"Uhmm…I dunno, let me think." I said giving methodical thought to the situation and the doubtfully analyzing the big and burly dog standing between me and Sid.
In our engrossment, we probably hadn’t heard father arrive, because he surprised us by dropping in on us in the backyard suddenly. "What are you boys doing here all alone? Won't you come in and have tea?"
After getting over the initial shock, Sid and I exchanged glances. Father didn’t look angry as yet. We began to drop our efforts and follow my father inside when he turned to me and said, "Oh, and did mom tell you?- I brought you and Yoda something. A regal looking pen set for you, which I hope will instigate love of writing in you. And for Yoda I brought a very special set of dog biscuits that look like cigars. It feels so hilarious to see a cigar sticking out of one’s pet’s mouth!"
Today, as I sat down on the park bench alongside Sid, to fasten my rollerblades firmly on my feet, Yoda seemed more excited than usual about our journey home. He kept jumping enthusiastically as though egging us to hurry up.
"Easy ol’ boy! What’s the matter with you?’ I said as I extended my hand to pet the large retriever. Sid looked on with his usual expression of contempt and incomprehension as I petted Yoda.
"How can you be so attached to a flea-bag mutt like him?"
Yoda turned his head to look offendedly at Sid. I laughed, "See? He’s so human!"
"If he’s human, I’m a kangaroo."
With that we got up and began skating towards my home. The euphoria of the speed, coupled with the rush of the wind against my face and hair- fed my teenage soul.
Skating next to me, Sid said, "Hey Al, your dad’s supposed to come home today right?"
"Yeah, father might be home already."
"Oh wow- what’s he getting you this time?"
"Dunno, depends- maybe he didn’t bring anything at all."
"Being in the Merchant Navy must be so cool! Where’d he go this time?"
"Romania."
"Ooooh! Wonder what he might have brought from there."
"If nothing else, then definitely a bust of some ugly ex- President of Romania."
"- or an expensive and ornate walking stick for that collection of his."
"- or maybe some cigars. Father loves cigars."
"- or maybe a gold-plated collar and leash for your clumsy cur!"
___________________________________________
"Hey mom! I’m home!"
"Good, go wash your hands and have something." Said mom emerging from the kitchen.
"Is father back yet?"
"Oh yes, and he went out too."
"Where?"
"He got a call from the office, so he left. He’d be back by tea time."
"Did he unpack? What did he bring for me & Yoda??"
"I don’t know, he did mention something- and I do think he began to unpack some stuff in the study- No, no, young man! Don’t you dare go blundering in your father’s study without his permission. Go wash your hands and have something first."
____________________________________
Not much time later, my curiosity got the better of me and I found myself creeping surreptitiously in my father’s study (followed equally surreptitiously by Yoda), without turning on the lights.
Near his writing desk, by the window, his suitcase lay open- revealing neat stacks of clothes and a couple of packages- the details of which I couldn’t make out clearly in the dark.
As I moved towards the suitcase to analyse its contents, my eye fell on a couple of things on the writing table, that my father had most probably extracted from the suitcase during whatever little unpacking he’d done before going.
A shiny silver carved paper cutter was lying next to a transparent case that held several singular looking cigars.
I picked up the cigar case and brought it closer to my eye for better view. ‘Hmm… golden- brown’. These didn’t look anything like other cigars that I’d ever seen. There were six of them and they sure looked precious. As I kept back the case, I was overcome by the desire to touch one of them and feel its surface. It seemed lighter than I’d expected and oddly rough.
I turned to face the mirror, for I wanted to see how it looked on me. But Oh! Woeful moment! As I turned, my foot hit the side of the suitcase completely unbalancing me- and the cigar flew from my hand.
Yoda, who was till now happily sniffing in another corner of the room, looked up when he heard me yelp- and on seeing something hurtling through the air in his direction, he jumped to catch it; like he’d always been trained to do.
But instead of holding it in his mouth, or keeping the cigar down, I saw him gulp and lick his nose contentedly.
Mortified I rushed towards Yoda. No, he wasn’t holding it. I scanned the floor- No, it certainly wasn’t dropped on the floor.
Panicking, I grabbed Yoda’s jaws and pried them open, peering inside. The poor dog’s mouth was just as a dog’s mouth should be (dog breath can kill you- so don’t try this at home).
Unable to get over the shock- I stared at Yoda in disbelief. Yoda stared back at me. "You big brute! You swallowed it! Father’s gonna kill me…", I muttered under my breath. Getting up from the floor, I grabbed Yoda by the collar and dragged him outside the study, hoping to exit as secretly as we had entered.
Mom had retired to her room and the kitchen was now deserted. I entred the kitchen and so did Yoda at my heels. "Now!", I turned upon Yoda with full fury; "You worthless animal! Retch it out!! Retch it out now!!". Yoda blinked innocently. "Yoda, my boy please!" I said beseechingly.
I got up and started massaging his ribs hoping this action to induce vomit. ‘What else can I do to make him puke? Give him water?’ No, I didn’t want the cigar to come out all soggy.
‘Who do I ask for help? Mom would surely kill me- she’d asked me not to go to the study,’ telling her was out of the question. ‘Sid!’ I grabbed my phone typed ‘cum over. big prblm’ and sent it immediately to Sid.
Fifteen minutes later, Sid and I were both sitting on the kitchen floor staring at the golden retriever (who was, nonchalantly, staring back at us).
"It went straight down, you say?"
"Yes." I replied glumly.
"So he didn’t chew it or anything?"
"Nope."
"Hmmm…" We were both thinking of the same thing. "He doesn’t look like he wants to puke."
"Yeah! That’s the entire problem!"
"But even if he does, it’ll come out all soggy and wet"
"We can dry it with Mom’s hair dryer or something- so that I can keep the cigar back without father’s knowing that I’d been to the study. I don’t care what becomes of the cigar, or whether Yoda keeps burping tobacco for a month; I just don’t want father to be mad at me."
"Let’s hang him upside down."
I looked at Sid irritatedly, "Can we talk about practical things here?"
"I remember someone saying that eating lots of margarine makes you puke. Do you have margarine at your place?"
"Hey, I’m sure we do!"
So another fifteen minutes later, we were still in the kitchen, having fed Yoda about half the margarine supplies in our groceries, we were looking for any visible symptoms of squeamishness. And to our disappointment, he was not showing us any.
He burped once, and our hopes arose; but he went on to lick his nose and continue to stare at us blankly. My exasperation rising, I shouted, "You ugly animal!! How can you do this?!"
"Let’s kill the dog and dismember him and get the cigar out."
"Oh c’mon, I don’t hate him."
"I still say let’s hang him upside down."
"Come on Sid! Be practical now! He’s never gonna throw up, and father’s gonna bury me alive. You know what he’s like. Why’d I ever go into that blasted study?!"
I had stood up in my agitation, but now I came to sit next to Sid, all hope ebbing away. The future seemed bleak, and finally I broke the silence, "Let’s hang him upside down."
The kitchen didn’t seem the correct place for such a ritual- so we went out to the deserted backyard , a reluctant Yoda in tow- the poor animal, most probably had a presentiment of our intentions, and thus seemed hesitant to follow us out.
"So how do we go about it? Do we need something?", said Sid.
"Uhmm…I dunno, let me think." I said giving methodical thought to the situation and the doubtfully analyzing the big and burly dog standing between me and Sid.
In our engrossment, we probably hadn’t heard father arrive, because he surprised us by dropping in on us in the backyard suddenly. "What are you boys doing here all alone? Won't you come in and have tea?"
After getting over the initial shock, Sid and I exchanged glances. Father didn’t look angry as yet. We began to drop our efforts and follow my father inside when he turned to me and said, "Oh, and did mom tell you?- I brought you and Yoda something. A regal looking pen set for you, which I hope will instigate love of writing in you. And for Yoda I brought a very special set of dog biscuits that look like cigars. It feels so hilarious to see a cigar sticking out of one’s pet’s mouth!"
Monday, October 13, 2008
Blaze of Glory
Written on the song 'Blaze of Glory' by Bon Jovi. Lyrics have been used as interludes.
___________________________________
In the distance, the village was beginning to wake up to a grey and overcast day. The weather was, however, the least of their troubles. On a tree, in the outskirts of the village, the big yellow cat was awake and alert as he sleeplessly, tirelessly and unblinkingly watched.
Cramped in his high hide among the dense branches, his mind was fogged with fatigue, but he dared not move. He dared not blink. Last night's hunt had convinced him that he needed more than the black spots on his fur to help him survive.
Dreaded, hated and hunted, the leopard had been chased all through the farms and fields and neighbouring villages. He didn't have any inkling anymore as to which direction he needed to go. All he knew that he had to go away from these herds of men who were out looking for him at night, bearing fire and clanging metal. He knew their metal was sharp. He knew their gunfire was deadly. He licked his wounds.
"I wake up in the morning
And I raise my weary head
I got an old coat for a pillow
And the earth was last night's bed
I don't know where I'm going
Only God knows where I've been
I'm a devil on the run
A six gun lover
A candle in the wind"
Three days ago, when he had first escaped from behind those bars, he knew where he was headed. He was headed for the woods. His instinct told him where they lay. The dense green envelope of familiarity was where he had been born, not very long ago. It was where he had learned the rules of the jungle, learned how to fend for himself and learned to discern danger, opportunity and risk by their scent.
His life in the zoo was enough to tame any creature and kill all vestiges of hope. In a four-by- four cage he would pace all day long, round and round and round till his head span. Till he could take the restlessness no more and in a fit of fury, he'd charge at the bars, he'd gnaw, snap and snarl. Though they did feed him well, they did give him the shelter, the safety, the assurance of a meal, he pined for his jungle life, where each day had been a struggle, an adventure, an uncertainty of survival. That's why he'd escaped.
"When you're brought into this world
They say you're born in sin
Well at least they gave me something
I didn't have to steal or have to win "
Three days in the world outside the zoo had been enough for the leopard to realize that home was nowhere near and there were settlements after settlements of these ugly two-legged, salty-blooded people. They were easy preys, especially their young- but he preferred their livestock. From this high perch of his, he could make out that the vengeful and madding humans of this village were still not at rest, even after the noisy and extensive search of last night. He could smell their fear, their agitation. They were upwind. And the wind brought down to him their intentions. He knew a new search would begin right now.
This time he wanted them to have a head start, he wanted to see them up close... smell them. Or maybe he was just tired of running. The moist soil under the dreary grey sky had his pugmarks which culminated under the tree. He knew the humans would be here anytime now. He looked around. Quite a way off, across a stream, he could see some promising looking thickets. Did a forest lie beyond it? Could he trust his instinct? Smoke, voices, gunfire. They were coming.
"Well they tell me that I'm wanted
Yeah I'm a wanted man
I'm colt in your stable
I'm what Cain was to Abel
Mister catch me if you can"
A flash of burning yellow was all they could see for an instant, when the crowd came round the turning. And then they saw it- the big wild cat, the killer of their children and their cattle- just twenty yards away. It had dropped from a tree and stood looking in their direction. As they positioned their rifles and took aim, the leopard snarled, turned and raced away. With loud cries and curses, they ran behind it.
The leopard looked over his shoulder as he sprinted ahead of the throng.
Sticks, daggers, guns. They were well equipped.
Men, women, children. No one wanted to be left behind, alone in the village.
The wind rushed past his face, his heart pumped faster, the sheer freedom and speed pulsated through his veins. Yes. He knew he was faster. He knew he was stronger. The crowd was becoming smaller behind him. He closed his eyes while running as the growing sense of fulfillment overtook him, when suddenly with a pop! something whizzed past him. Guns. The part the leopard had been dreading. He had a mortal fear of guns since his late cubhood. Just the sight of one filled him with manic panic.
He remembered at the entrance of the zoo, when he had slipped out of his cage and was furtively making his way towards freedom, a guard had seen him. The guard had raised alarm and in an effort to waylay the leopard, had launched himself exactly between the big cat and his path to outside world. The leopard might still have rushed past the guard without hurting him, had the guard not committed one mortal error- he took out his gun and took aim at the cat.
Petrified and frenzied by the sight of the gun, the leopard had hesitated. Then he'd pounced and made for the guard's throat. Deeper and deeper his fangs had sunk, till he had had his first taste of human blood. After a while, the man stopped struggling under the weight of the leopard's sinewy body. The leopard left the lifeless form to bleed. Such a big kill, he thought now as he continued running. And such little effort. Mother would have been proud.
"I'm going down in a blaze of glory
Take me now but know the truth
I'm going down in a blaze of glory
Lord I never drew first
But I drew first blood
I'm no one's son
Call me young gun"
The crowd of villagers was still at his heels. Though they were distant and seemed slightly less in number now, they were still in hot pursuit.
He made his way through some derelict, forsaken hutments towards the stream he'd seen earlier in the day. The stream beyond which that jungle-like greenery was sprawled. His only hope.
But the close houses confused him, the streets were labyrinthine. The sense of the proximity to his destination drove him on.
He had learned to hunt with the rest of his siblings. God knew where they were now. Though it wasn't that long ago, he had almost forgotten the familiar feel of brush of fur against fur, the sense of belonging and love. His mother, stern but affectionate, used to give her cubs the lessons of the wild. She guarded them and brought them prey. They had bungled many a hunt for her when they accompanied her to them, before finally developing the patience and practice to be able to help. With his all faculties sharpened and his instincts honed, he had learned faster than his brother and sister. He remembered the tactics and strategies they formed to corner and cut off their quarry. He had a natural impulse stronger than the patient deliberation his mother always tried to inculcate in him. Yet he was strong; he was efficient; and he knew one day he'd be the terror of his territory.
He remembered his mother's low impatient growl to reprimand when he and his siblings fought. He remembered the look in her eyes when he had brought down his first prey. And he also remembered her snarl when the humans had raised their guns in her direction. He remembered seeing her fall. Her powerful body, lifeless; her watchful yellow eyes, blank.
That's how he feared guns. The next thing he remembered after that was- bars. Bars, the four- by- four cage, and the restlessness. And the madding human crowd.
"You ask about my conscience
And I offer you my soul
You ask If I'll grow to be a wise man
Well I ask if I'll grow old
You ask me if I known love
And what it's like to sing songs in the rain
Well, I've seen love come
And I've seen it shot down
I've seen it die in vain"
Another Pop! and a searing pain in his haunch made him limp to a halt. The bullet had entered his left hind leg and he had begun to lose blood. He licked away the blood quickly. As he did so, he could see the villagers behind him, advancing swiftly. He tried getting up. Pain, like an electric current, shot up his leg.
He had never wanted to take human life. He had never wanted to run into humans in the first place. He was acclimated to the jungle. They had forced him among them. They had brought it on themselves.
It was the guard at the zoo who had raised the gun. He had just reacted. It was the villagers who had hunted him and laid traps for him. He had only killed in hunger.
The villagers were getting even closer now. Despite the pain, he got up and continued running.
"Shot down in a blaze of glory
Take me now but know the truth
'Cause I'm going down in a blaze of glory
Lord I never drew first
But I drew first blood
I'm the devil's son
Call me young gun"
He could hear the human voices growing. But they weren't just coming from behind him. Panicking at this realization, he slowed down. Yes. They must have split midway to cut him off. He could see another crowd of humans advancing from the opposite direction, blocking his progress.
He looked ahead and behind him. Making a quick decision, he turned into an alley to his right. It was narrow and dirty. Both the crowds had closed in behind him and entered the alley.
He ran half the length of the alley before he saw what was at the end of it- a blank wall, a dead end.
He turned around to face his opponents. He was cornered; he was tired; he was bleeding, but he was satisfied. If this was his end, he was fine with it. All his animal instincts were satiated. He had lived more in these three days of adventure than he would have lived in thirteen years of pent restlessness in that cage.
Apprehending the imminent climax of the chase, the villagers inched forward. The leopard lowered his head and poised himself for action. His eyes kept moving from one person to the other. They were too many, he slowly moved backwards. Near the front of the crowd, he saw someone raise their rifle to their shoulder. As though by a reflex action, he pounced.
The bullet hit him in the under- belly. He froze in the air in mid leap. A glazed look came to his eyes as his bleeding form fell to the ground with a thud.
"Each night I go to bed
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
No I ain't looking for forgiveness
But before I'm six foot deep
Lord, I got to ask a favor
And I'll hope you'll understand
'Cause I've lived life to the fullest
Let the boy die like a man
Staring down the bullet
Let me make my final stand
Shot down in a blaze of glory
Take me now but know the truth
I'm going out in a blaze of glory"
The air of tension was lifted instantly and the villagers all lowered their weapons and suspended their guard. The relief at having ended the monster was palpable. For them it was the perfect denouement to the drama of three days. As the shooter and a few people strode up to the body, the feline suddenly sprang up, jumped high onto the rooftop of the huts and jumping rooftop to rooftop, vanished from view.
"Lord I never drew first
But I drew first blood
and I'm no one's son
Call me young gun
I'm a young gun"
_______________________________
This won a fortnight competition at IAW. Participants had to take any song and write a description/ story/ imagery around it. I chose Bon Jovi.
___________________________________
In the distance, the village was beginning to wake up to a grey and overcast day. The weather was, however, the least of their troubles. On a tree, in the outskirts of the village, the big yellow cat was awake and alert as he sleeplessly, tirelessly and unblinkingly watched.
Cramped in his high hide among the dense branches, his mind was fogged with fatigue, but he dared not move. He dared not blink. Last night's hunt had convinced him that he needed more than the black spots on his fur to help him survive.
Dreaded, hated and hunted, the leopard had been chased all through the farms and fields and neighbouring villages. He didn't have any inkling anymore as to which direction he needed to go. All he knew that he had to go away from these herds of men who were out looking for him at night, bearing fire and clanging metal. He knew their metal was sharp. He knew their gunfire was deadly. He licked his wounds.
"I wake up in the morning
And I raise my weary head
I got an old coat for a pillow
And the earth was last night's bed
I don't know where I'm going
Only God knows where I've been
I'm a devil on the run
A six gun lover
A candle in the wind"
Three days ago, when he had first escaped from behind those bars, he knew where he was headed. He was headed for the woods. His instinct told him where they lay. The dense green envelope of familiarity was where he had been born, not very long ago. It was where he had learned the rules of the jungle, learned how to fend for himself and learned to discern danger, opportunity and risk by their scent.
His life in the zoo was enough to tame any creature and kill all vestiges of hope. In a four-by- four cage he would pace all day long, round and round and round till his head span. Till he could take the restlessness no more and in a fit of fury, he'd charge at the bars, he'd gnaw, snap and snarl. Though they did feed him well, they did give him the shelter, the safety, the assurance of a meal, he pined for his jungle life, where each day had been a struggle, an adventure, an uncertainty of survival. That's why he'd escaped.
"When you're brought into this world
They say you're born in sin
Well at least they gave me something
I didn't have to steal or have to win "
Three days in the world outside the zoo had been enough for the leopard to realize that home was nowhere near and there were settlements after settlements of these ugly two-legged, salty-blooded people. They were easy preys, especially their young- but he preferred their livestock. From this high perch of his, he could make out that the vengeful and madding humans of this village were still not at rest, even after the noisy and extensive search of last night. He could smell their fear, their agitation. They were upwind. And the wind brought down to him their intentions. He knew a new search would begin right now.
This time he wanted them to have a head start, he wanted to see them up close... smell them. Or maybe he was just tired of running. The moist soil under the dreary grey sky had his pugmarks which culminated under the tree. He knew the humans would be here anytime now. He looked around. Quite a way off, across a stream, he could see some promising looking thickets. Did a forest lie beyond it? Could he trust his instinct? Smoke, voices, gunfire. They were coming.
"Well they tell me that I'm wanted
Yeah I'm a wanted man
I'm colt in your stable
I'm what Cain was to Abel
Mister catch me if you can"
A flash of burning yellow was all they could see for an instant, when the crowd came round the turning. And then they saw it- the big wild cat, the killer of their children and their cattle- just twenty yards away. It had dropped from a tree and stood looking in their direction. As they positioned their rifles and took aim, the leopard snarled, turned and raced away. With loud cries and curses, they ran behind it.
The leopard looked over his shoulder as he sprinted ahead of the throng.
Sticks, daggers, guns. They were well equipped.
Men, women, children. No one wanted to be left behind, alone in the village.
The wind rushed past his face, his heart pumped faster, the sheer freedom and speed pulsated through his veins. Yes. He knew he was faster. He knew he was stronger. The crowd was becoming smaller behind him. He closed his eyes while running as the growing sense of fulfillment overtook him, when suddenly with a pop! something whizzed past him. Guns. The part the leopard had been dreading. He had a mortal fear of guns since his late cubhood. Just the sight of one filled him with manic panic.
He remembered at the entrance of the zoo, when he had slipped out of his cage and was furtively making his way towards freedom, a guard had seen him. The guard had raised alarm and in an effort to waylay the leopard, had launched himself exactly between the big cat and his path to outside world. The leopard might still have rushed past the guard without hurting him, had the guard not committed one mortal error- he took out his gun and took aim at the cat.
Petrified and frenzied by the sight of the gun, the leopard had hesitated. Then he'd pounced and made for the guard's throat. Deeper and deeper his fangs had sunk, till he had had his first taste of human blood. After a while, the man stopped struggling under the weight of the leopard's sinewy body. The leopard left the lifeless form to bleed. Such a big kill, he thought now as he continued running. And such little effort. Mother would have been proud.
"I'm going down in a blaze of glory
Take me now but know the truth
I'm going down in a blaze of glory
Lord I never drew first
But I drew first blood
I'm no one's son
Call me young gun"
The crowd of villagers was still at his heels. Though they were distant and seemed slightly less in number now, they were still in hot pursuit.
He made his way through some derelict, forsaken hutments towards the stream he'd seen earlier in the day. The stream beyond which that jungle-like greenery was sprawled. His only hope.
But the close houses confused him, the streets were labyrinthine. The sense of the proximity to his destination drove him on.
He had learned to hunt with the rest of his siblings. God knew where they were now. Though it wasn't that long ago, he had almost forgotten the familiar feel of brush of fur against fur, the sense of belonging and love. His mother, stern but affectionate, used to give her cubs the lessons of the wild. She guarded them and brought them prey. They had bungled many a hunt for her when they accompanied her to them, before finally developing the patience and practice to be able to help. With his all faculties sharpened and his instincts honed, he had learned faster than his brother and sister. He remembered the tactics and strategies they formed to corner and cut off their quarry. He had a natural impulse stronger than the patient deliberation his mother always tried to inculcate in him. Yet he was strong; he was efficient; and he knew one day he'd be the terror of his territory.
He remembered his mother's low impatient growl to reprimand when he and his siblings fought. He remembered the look in her eyes when he had brought down his first prey. And he also remembered her snarl when the humans had raised their guns in her direction. He remembered seeing her fall. Her powerful body, lifeless; her watchful yellow eyes, blank.
That's how he feared guns. The next thing he remembered after that was- bars. Bars, the four- by- four cage, and the restlessness. And the madding human crowd.
"You ask about my conscience
And I offer you my soul
You ask If I'll grow to be a wise man
Well I ask if I'll grow old
You ask me if I known love
And what it's like to sing songs in the rain
Well, I've seen love come
And I've seen it shot down
I've seen it die in vain"
Another Pop! and a searing pain in his haunch made him limp to a halt. The bullet had entered his left hind leg and he had begun to lose blood. He licked away the blood quickly. As he did so, he could see the villagers behind him, advancing swiftly. He tried getting up. Pain, like an electric current, shot up his leg.
He had never wanted to take human life. He had never wanted to run into humans in the first place. He was acclimated to the jungle. They had forced him among them. They had brought it on themselves.
It was the guard at the zoo who had raised the gun. He had just reacted. It was the villagers who had hunted him and laid traps for him. He had only killed in hunger.
The villagers were getting even closer now. Despite the pain, he got up and continued running.
"Shot down in a blaze of glory
Take me now but know the truth
'Cause I'm going down in a blaze of glory
Lord I never drew first
But I drew first blood
I'm the devil's son
Call me young gun"
He could hear the human voices growing. But they weren't just coming from behind him. Panicking at this realization, he slowed down. Yes. They must have split midway to cut him off. He could see another crowd of humans advancing from the opposite direction, blocking his progress.
He looked ahead and behind him. Making a quick decision, he turned into an alley to his right. It was narrow and dirty. Both the crowds had closed in behind him and entered the alley.
He ran half the length of the alley before he saw what was at the end of it- a blank wall, a dead end.
He turned around to face his opponents. He was cornered; he was tired; he was bleeding, but he was satisfied. If this was his end, he was fine with it. All his animal instincts were satiated. He had lived more in these three days of adventure than he would have lived in thirteen years of pent restlessness in that cage.
Apprehending the imminent climax of the chase, the villagers inched forward. The leopard lowered his head and poised himself for action. His eyes kept moving from one person to the other. They were too many, he slowly moved backwards. Near the front of the crowd, he saw someone raise their rifle to their shoulder. As though by a reflex action, he pounced.
The bullet hit him in the under- belly. He froze in the air in mid leap. A glazed look came to his eyes as his bleeding form fell to the ground with a thud.
"Each night I go to bed
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
No I ain't looking for forgiveness
But before I'm six foot deep
Lord, I got to ask a favor
And I'll hope you'll understand
'Cause I've lived life to the fullest
Let the boy die like a man
Staring down the bullet
Let me make my final stand
Shot down in a blaze of glory
Take me now but know the truth
I'm going out in a blaze of glory"
The air of tension was lifted instantly and the villagers all lowered their weapons and suspended their guard. The relief at having ended the monster was palpable. For them it was the perfect denouement to the drama of three days. As the shooter and a few people strode up to the body, the feline suddenly sprang up, jumped high onto the rooftop of the huts and jumping rooftop to rooftop, vanished from view.
"Lord I never drew first
But I drew first blood
and I'm no one's son
Call me young gun
I'm a young gun"
_______________________________
This won a fortnight competition at IAW. Participants had to take any song and write a description/ story/ imagery around it. I chose Bon Jovi.
Un-shattered Dreams
Dreams are fragile. When they break, it hurts. She thought bitterly as she lay on the hospital bed, weak and pale. The nurse had just told her that it had been a girl child. Another girl? Her heart had sunk at the news. After ten years of marriage, she knew this was their last child. They already had a daughter- she had so hoped that this'd be a son- it hurt to think about it that way, now.
The nurse entered again, this time with a neat white bundle of cloth in her arms. She caught the first glimpse of her daughter once the nurse had placed the bundle on the bed beside her. She could make out a very dark complexion and a handful of brown curls on an otherwise bald head. She had no intrinsic urge to look further. She made no move to touch the baby.
The nurse had said that the baby was exceptionally healthy and fat. Oh why not, I've carried around that mass of flesh in my stomach for nine months... 'eat well, exercise well, don't take stress and consult family doctor regularly'...and all for this... this...girl! Her head fell back on the pillows and she closed her eyes, too anaemic and drained to even hate properly.
Oh, how all my people would react! Some would be genuinely disappointed, some would just smirk and love to spread the gossip around,
"Did you hear? It's another daughter."
"Really? That is sad."
"Oh yes, seems like it's God's will that such a prestigious family should end this way"
Her husband was an only son. Thus, it was only their issues that could take the family name forward. And there! I have brought it to an end. I have nipped off the lineage, killed off the clan. Damn that blasted science for saying that the baby's gender wasn't the mother's fault! Like they'll all believe it.
She looked at the baby and suddenly felt loathing. 'Healthy and fat'. The nurse's words came back to her. She felt as though this little girl had robbed her of all her nutrition and health, reducing her to this fragile heap of skin and bones; this tiny girl had robbed her little son of a life with loving parents. A son she and her husband had hoped for and planned for. The son they deserved.
I won't keep her. I'll give her away. I don't care. She killed our son! As even more unreasonable thoughts flooded into her brain, she slipped into a delirious sleep.
Her dreams made her happy. She dreamt that it was a son, after all. The daughter was just the hospital people's mistake.
"Junior is so good at cricket! Just like his Dad!"
"Junior is a bright child- he'll make you both proud!"
"Aren't you the perfect family now- first a daughter, now a son!"
******
She slipped out of delirium soon afterward- only to realize it was all a dream. It hurt. The brown skinned, curly haired girl child was still lying alongside her. The baby wasn't crying, but wasn't asleep either. Strange. Her elder daughter would have begun bawling with hunger by now. What a quiet and patient child. She removed the white coverings slightly to have a better look. 'Healthy and Fat'. She noticed the baby was homely and cute. If she had seen this child some other day, in some other mother's arms, she would have stopped to admire her.
But she is not someone else's daughter. She's mine. She's been within me for nine months. The baby wriggled slightly and moved her head to look at her mother. Large, clear, sparkling eyes. Uncomplaining eyes.
Slowly, it struck her- this child, so patient and accommodating in this cruel world despite being repudiated- was her own. So vulnerable! So innocent! And what a monster have I been! Does it matter whether it's a boy or a girl? She's a part of me.
She sat up on her pillows and delicately picked up the tender parcel of life.
Motherhood is the first religion. Should it stop directing humans out of their age of fragile incapability, mankind would no longer exist.
_________________________________
This one, too, is a winner at IAW. I won the weekly theme 'fragility' when I submitted this.
The nurse entered again, this time with a neat white bundle of cloth in her arms. She caught the first glimpse of her daughter once the nurse had placed the bundle on the bed beside her. She could make out a very dark complexion and a handful of brown curls on an otherwise bald head. She had no intrinsic urge to look further. She made no move to touch the baby.
The nurse had said that the baby was exceptionally healthy and fat. Oh why not, I've carried around that mass of flesh in my stomach for nine months... 'eat well, exercise well, don't take stress and consult family doctor regularly'...and all for this... this...girl! Her head fell back on the pillows and she closed her eyes, too anaemic and drained to even hate properly.
Oh, how all my people would react! Some would be genuinely disappointed, some would just smirk and love to spread the gossip around,
"Did you hear? It's another daughter."
"Really? That is sad."
"Oh yes, seems like it's God's will that such a prestigious family should end this way"
Her husband was an only son. Thus, it was only their issues that could take the family name forward. And there! I have brought it to an end. I have nipped off the lineage, killed off the clan. Damn that blasted science for saying that the baby's gender wasn't the mother's fault! Like they'll all believe it.
She looked at the baby and suddenly felt loathing. 'Healthy and fat'. The nurse's words came back to her. She felt as though this little girl had robbed her of all her nutrition and health, reducing her to this fragile heap of skin and bones; this tiny girl had robbed her little son of a life with loving parents. A son she and her husband had hoped for and planned for. The son they deserved.
I won't keep her. I'll give her away. I don't care. She killed our son! As even more unreasonable thoughts flooded into her brain, she slipped into a delirious sleep.
Her dreams made her happy. She dreamt that it was a son, after all. The daughter was just the hospital people's mistake.
"Junior is so good at cricket! Just like his Dad!"
"Junior is a bright child- he'll make you both proud!"
"Aren't you the perfect family now- first a daughter, now a son!"
******
She slipped out of delirium soon afterward- only to realize it was all a dream. It hurt. The brown skinned, curly haired girl child was still lying alongside her. The baby wasn't crying, but wasn't asleep either. Strange. Her elder daughter would have begun bawling with hunger by now. What a quiet and patient child. She removed the white coverings slightly to have a better look. 'Healthy and Fat'. She noticed the baby was homely and cute. If she had seen this child some other day, in some other mother's arms, she would have stopped to admire her.
But she is not someone else's daughter. She's mine. She's been within me for nine months. The baby wriggled slightly and moved her head to look at her mother. Large, clear, sparkling eyes. Uncomplaining eyes.
Slowly, it struck her- this child, so patient and accommodating in this cruel world despite being repudiated- was her own. So vulnerable! So innocent! And what a monster have I been! Does it matter whether it's a boy or a girl? She's a part of me.
She sat up on her pillows and delicately picked up the tender parcel of life.
Motherhood is the first religion. Should it stop directing humans out of their age of fragile incapability, mankind would no longer exist.
_________________________________
This one, too, is a winner at IAW. I won the weekly theme 'fragility' when I submitted this.
The Pet-less Life
You know what the best thing in the world is?
I mean the simply best thing!
Better than cool breeze on a summer night, or owning a Ferrari (or a ninja), or a candle-light dinner with your loved one, or finding all signals green when running late....
It is- being greeted delightedly by a furry animal when you return home.
For some, the wide-eyed admiration of a dog or the lazy affection of a cat, are foreign and incomprehensible experiences; who’d always prefer to consider animals as just biting hazards and flea sanctuaries.
But then there are some, whose life in a hostel, away from home is lustre-less due to this very reason- that a vital element of their lives is missing- a pet.
For me, the change was drastic. As I always let my dogs sleep on my bed back at home (yeah, ok, hygiene freaks can wrinkle up their noses in disgust), I got this new-found freedom of stretching my legs till the foot of the bed, because I'd gotten into the habit of sleeping curled up like a dog myself.
It had begun with my letting Candy, a li'l pup (then) sleep at the foot of my bed. But when she started growing bigger & bigger, and I adopted Sher & Shiney (two quarrelsome canines), I noticed that I was getting outnumbered and cornered on my own bed. There used to be squabbles as to who gets to use my pillow- and believe me, I never won. But the discomfiture is worth it when you are woken with a loving lick on the face (hygiene freaks are free to puke now) each morning.
Pet owners also find eating without being stared at by two unblinking, beseeching eyes (in my case, six) an abnormal way to dine. As for me, I could hardly get up in the middle of the night for a midnight snack, without having all three of my little followers clamouring around me to see what's in the fridge.
Their jumping around in mud in rains; howling at midnight at some distant disturbance in the dog world; chasing mice (if one was unfortunate enough to enter our house); and a million other trivial and endearing pursuits have now become an inseparable part of my life. A pet keeps you away from depression and some researches say, they also keep your blood pressure in check. So all you finicky hygiene maniacs, one thing, that though they may not be the cleanest of all companions, it's always harder to live away from pets.
__________________________________________________
This one has been published in Echo, the symbiosis hostel newsletter. There was a picture of me with a dog, next to this article... yay! =D
I mean the simply best thing!
Better than cool breeze on a summer night, or owning a Ferrari (or a ninja), or a candle-light dinner with your loved one, or finding all signals green when running late....
It is- being greeted delightedly by a furry animal when you return home.
For some, the wide-eyed admiration of a dog or the lazy affection of a cat, are foreign and incomprehensible experiences; who’d always prefer to consider animals as just biting hazards and flea sanctuaries.
But then there are some, whose life in a hostel, away from home is lustre-less due to this very reason- that a vital element of their lives is missing- a pet.
For me, the change was drastic. As I always let my dogs sleep on my bed back at home (yeah, ok, hygiene freaks can wrinkle up their noses in disgust), I got this new-found freedom of stretching my legs till the foot of the bed, because I'd gotten into the habit of sleeping curled up like a dog myself.
It had begun with my letting Candy, a li'l pup (then) sleep at the foot of my bed. But when she started growing bigger & bigger, and I adopted Sher & Shiney (two quarrelsome canines), I noticed that I was getting outnumbered and cornered on my own bed. There used to be squabbles as to who gets to use my pillow- and believe me, I never won. But the discomfiture is worth it when you are woken with a loving lick on the face (hygiene freaks are free to puke now) each morning.
Pet owners also find eating without being stared at by two unblinking, beseeching eyes (in my case, six) an abnormal way to dine. As for me, I could hardly get up in the middle of the night for a midnight snack, without having all three of my little followers clamouring around me to see what's in the fridge.
Their jumping around in mud in rains; howling at midnight at some distant disturbance in the dog world; chasing mice (if one was unfortunate enough to enter our house); and a million other trivial and endearing pursuits have now become an inseparable part of my life. A pet keeps you away from depression and some researches say, they also keep your blood pressure in check. So all you finicky hygiene maniacs, one thing, that though they may not be the cleanest of all companions, it's always harder to live away from pets.
__________________________________________________
This one has been published in Echo, the symbiosis hostel newsletter. There was a picture of me with a dog, next to this article... yay! =D
Space
Some memories are so trivial and yet so endearing. This particular one is so insignificant that it feels silly mentioning it here. I still shall, before my brain decides to push it far back into the foggy darkness of irretrievability in the back of my mind, from where it would eventually be thrown out on being replaced by a newer array of memories. And I wouldn't miss it. Because I wouldn't know it's gone.
Most of the memories of my school-life have already met that fate. However, the ones in which we (all my classmates and I) drudged doggedly on 'Projects' of History, Geography, English et cetera in our ninth standard; have survived Time's denudation. These projects were of great importance at that time- what with their marks adding up in the boards next year and all. So we cut and pasted pictures (not virtually, of course), illustrated diagrams (of pictures we could not cut), compiled data from different textbooks (which just made the reports repetitive) and used packets upon packets of punched papers (make that V.I.P. punched papers in white and blue packets, if you please).
The thickness of the project was quintessential. After all, it should look like the culmination of all the hardwork and midnight oil (and V.I.P. punched papers) that had gone into its making. A clever device to increase the bulk and thence, its noteworthiness was increasing the size of your handwriting and writing with great spaces between the words. And this was the common ploy all of us invariably used. The words were so grotesquely over- spaced that sometimes only three words would fit into one line.
The over- all effect was that the sheets looked whiter and barer and a relief to the eye (if you're not one of those spoilsports who'd rather judge a project by the content) with specks of blue floating on an expanse of white. Ah! how lovely, clean and voluminous this stratagem made our projects look! And you can't blame us; how else do you make a three line acknowledgement (we just could [i]not [/i] make it longer, we tried everything, I guess we simply didn't feel grateful enough) stretch till half the length of the page?
I doubt if those things were ever read by anyone, seeing how much effort we put into its 'presentation' (a good word for all the fancy covers and colourful lettering) in hopes of fetching better marks. But I do know for sure that my Geography teacher at least used to look inside, if nothing more. I say this because most of us got our projects back with "Save trees" written on them in her hand.
Most of the memories of my school-life have already met that fate. However, the ones in which we (all my classmates and I) drudged doggedly on 'Projects' of History, Geography, English et cetera in our ninth standard; have survived Time's denudation. These projects were of great importance at that time- what with their marks adding up in the boards next year and all. So we cut and pasted pictures (not virtually, of course), illustrated diagrams (of pictures we could not cut), compiled data from different textbooks (which just made the reports repetitive) and used packets upon packets of punched papers (make that V.I.P. punched papers in white and blue packets, if you please).
The thickness of the project was quintessential. After all, it should look like the culmination of all the hardwork and midnight oil (and V.I.P. punched papers) that had gone into its making. A clever device to increase the bulk and thence, its noteworthiness was increasing the size of your handwriting and writing with great spaces between the words. And this was the common ploy all of us invariably used. The words were so grotesquely over- spaced that sometimes only three words would fit into one line.
The over- all effect was that the sheets looked whiter and barer and a relief to the eye (if you're not one of those spoilsports who'd rather judge a project by the content) with specks of blue floating on an expanse of white. Ah! how lovely, clean and voluminous this stratagem made our projects look! And you can't blame us; how else do you make a three line acknowledgement (we just could [i]not [/i] make it longer, we tried everything, I guess we simply didn't feel grateful enough) stretch till half the length of the page?
I doubt if those things were ever read by anyone, seeing how much effort we put into its 'presentation' (a good word for all the fancy covers and colourful lettering) in hopes of fetching better marks. But I do know for sure that my Geography teacher at least used to look inside, if nothing more. I say this because most of us got our projects back with "Save trees" written on them in her hand.
The Warrior
The moon again.
The full moon.
The full moon at midnight.
A faintly familiar feeling of melancholy surged through him. Why, this has happened before. As he stood outside, under the eerily irradiating moon while the neighbourhood was submissively submerged in Sandman's sleepy spell, images of a distant past blurred his vision.
On nights like these, he was fully conscious of his true identity.
He knew, full well too, that once morning came this knowledge would desert him, leaving him to mingle and move about with the humans- the creatures he lived among but never truly belonged. But right now was the moment of realization. He could see it clearly. There was a time when he was among his true kinsmen, fighting like the fighter he truly was.
A time not of this life.
A time of several lives he had lived before.
Ages, centuries ago.
A time deeply embedded in the murky depths of the past. When in the perpetual war for existence, he was the bravest warrior. The days when his quarry could never, even for a moment, delude himself with the notion of escaping him. The days when adrenaline pumped through him as he knew that his each move decided the survival and sustenance of his clan.
The warrior clan whom he now knew (till morning) he belonged to.
The clan whom Time had tricked into defanging.
And here he was now.
In an overwhelming wolfish agony, he held his muzzle up and howled at the moon. As a neighbour's window swung open and the words, "Shut up, ya damned dog!" sounded across the lawns, poor Spike dolefully entered his kennel to recline.
The full moon.
The full moon at midnight.
A faintly familiar feeling of melancholy surged through him. Why, this has happened before. As he stood outside, under the eerily irradiating moon while the neighbourhood was submissively submerged in Sandman's sleepy spell, images of a distant past blurred his vision.
On nights like these, he was fully conscious of his true identity.
He knew, full well too, that once morning came this knowledge would desert him, leaving him to mingle and move about with the humans- the creatures he lived among but never truly belonged. But right now was the moment of realization. He could see it clearly. There was a time when he was among his true kinsmen, fighting like the fighter he truly was.
A time not of this life.
A time of several lives he had lived before.
Ages, centuries ago.
A time deeply embedded in the murky depths of the past. When in the perpetual war for existence, he was the bravest warrior. The days when his quarry could never, even for a moment, delude himself with the notion of escaping him. The days when adrenaline pumped through him as he knew that his each move decided the survival and sustenance of his clan.
The warrior clan whom he now knew (till morning) he belonged to.
The clan whom Time had tricked into defanging.
And here he was now.
In an overwhelming wolfish agony, he held his muzzle up and howled at the moon. As a neighbour's window swung open and the words, "Shut up, ya damned dog!" sounded across the lawns, poor Spike dolefully entered his kennel to recline.
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