Part 3

A wave of fear swept through Tito’s body. As the man got closer, the light accentuated his features. The man seemed to be on the wrong side of his 40s, built heavily and had a stony expression. Beads of sweat rolled down Tito’s smooth face. He knew he was an innocent man but he had a gut wrenching feeling he had done something wrong, something salacious. Tito’s worst fears came true. It was Preston. He had a gun!

Back in the heydays, when Tito was a young lothario, he had committed a grave mistake, a mistake that was going to cost him his life.

He had his eye on the town’s school teacher. She was a pretty woman in her early twenties. She lived alone in a small house her father had left for her. It was not uncommon for her when amorous men letched at her lustfully. She tried her best ignoring the snides and passes made by eve-teasers. Rumors were rife about her stormy relation with the mayor’s son. The break up was so bad, that apparently, the mayor’s son killed himself. She never agreed nor denied her relationship with the mayor’s son.

Tito knew she was single and in her prime. He had an irrestible urge for her. Since she was hard to get, it got him excited even more. He always got his ladies, easy or hard to get. He knew his charm would not let him down. On one fine afternoon, he felt the time was right. He carefully adjusted his intentionally tousled hair and did what he could do best with his clothes. He picked up a bunch of neatly cut short stemmed roses. “Roses can never let you down” he thought and headed towards the school with an impish smile.

As she came out of the gate, his heart skipped a beat. She looked very beautiful that day. He knew his mind was playing tricks. She was always beautiful. His testosterone raced and he lost control of his mind. He followed the teacher for a distance, away from the bustling market and to a quiet dark lane. He quickened his pace and grunted an “excuse me” The teacher continued walking. He knew she ignored him. This angered him a little. He ran behind her and said “excuse me” with more gumption. She stopped walking and turned around, facing Tito. Tito’s face flushed into a crimson red. This was the closest he had ever got to her. He did not know what to say, he did not care. He could stand there the whole day staring at her. The teacher broke the ice with a miffled “Yes, can I help you?” “Even her voice is so beautiful” thought Tito and before he could muster up the courage to talk again, the teacher began to walk away. He finally shouted “I really like you” The teacher paused. “I think you are very beautiful and I really like you” Tito never played his women that way. He always waited for them to confess their love for him. He never did. His ego did not let him. Today, however, his ego vanished. His vanity dissipated. He just wanted to talk to the teacher.

and it continues.....

PIECES OF A DREAM - continued....

Part 2:

Tito was a respected and adored man in his town. He had this irrepressible charm that got him anything and everything he wanted. With the features of a Greek God, six feet tall, blue eyed and masculine, he commanded an air of authority and respect. Tito was always the ladies’ man. No matter what he said, what he did, the ladies swooned for him. His charisma was his prerogative. Every man in town wanted to be like him, every young boy wanted to grow up to be him. He was every guy’s secret idol. His taciturn and laconic replies were a little unnerving, but there was nothing reproachful of him. Leading a perfect life was something he did with ease. But not everyone knew his deep dark inner side.

A myriad of emotions was running through Tito’s mind while he was walking back home. He had just lost a considerable amount of money gambling. What was he going to tell his landlady? He owed her two months’ rent and was running out of excuses. The gambling incident was indelible. He could not win back that much again. His sanguine and cheery mood was no more. He lost hope. His penchant for getting out of trouble was something that brought him a lot of optimism, but not this time. Trying to assuage his loss, he headed to the local bar. The dusty, lacklustre bar was a subterfuge to the atmosphere outside. The bartender had a wry smile as he served the usual to Tito; Scotch, on the rocks.

As he downed the drink with profligate haste, enjoying every drop of it, he heard a loud thud. It was the door. He noticed someone get in. The dark and shadowy room made it hard for him to size up the man. His footsteps were hard and heavy. There was a sinister silence in the bar. The noisy crowd at the end of the room became so quiet that the tension in the room could be felt. The man had something in his hand. He was gripping it really tight and had it aimed towards one direction, towards one person: TITO.

More to come.....

PIECES OF A DREAM

PIECES OF A DREAM

He was lying down on the soft marshy land; legs and arms sprawled across, his mind wandering carelessly into the quagmire of oblivion. There seemed to be an ominous intensity to the whole scenery that seemed so perfectly crafted, that it had to be seen to be believed. There was not a single cloud in the sky. The eagles flew in circles, imperious and pugnacious; the eerie mountain wind had a repugnant smell to it. The smell of a dead, rotting carcass. Yet, he seemed so impervious and unperturbed.

It was another rainy day, in the ever beautiful, ever scenic home town of his. The hustle and bustle of cities and metros were completely devoid from it. Life moved at a surreal pace. So slow, so calm, it seemed to be paradise on Earth. The roads reeked the smell of fresh palm trees; replete with their scent, flaunting their beauty, exhibiting what Mother Nature had given them. The diminutive houses seemed so germane, so relevant to the setting of the town; unlike the massive bungalows in the neighbourhood town, which seemed so out of place. The entire town seemed like a Utopia. Everything was impeccable. The sparrows chirped faultlessly, the trees swayed flawlessly and the people seemed perfect.

He wondered how he was so different. He was like a fish out of water. He didn’t seem to fit in. Somehow, this Utopia of a town seemed too surreal for him. It was unreal. He was an anomaly there, no one to associate to, and no one to connect with. His body was different, his strut was different, the way he looked; entirely, was different. “How could someone be so imperfect?” he thought, when he spent endless hours staring in the mirror, reproachful of everything that came to his attention. He was too heavy on himself. He disliked how he looked. He loathed the “perfect” people of his town. He wanted to escape; he wanted to free himself from the clutches of this faultless world.

To be continued ...

Emancipation

Emancipation

"Some look at the soul as amazing,

Some describe him as amazing, and some hear of him as amazing,

While others, even after hearing about him,

Cannot understand him at all”

He seemed the traditional type. A stereotypical, humdrum kind of a guy. Yet there was something so queer, so anomalous of him. His uncanny sense of humor had everyone in splits, but his inner self had a dark side; one that felt there was no need in accomplishing what He had sent us for. One that wanted to free itself from the visceral grip of life, groping towards salvation. Life had no purpose, no meaning.

Standing five foot five inches, bespectacled and bereft, he seemed the least intimidating, physically. His scrawny, desolate frame invited a sense of pity. His brain made up for it though. Its funny how a person is blessed with an abundance of something, making up for what he/she lacks in. Like how blind people are blessed with a supernormal sense of hearing.

Ragh was never dethroned from his “topper” position in class. It seemed an almost impossible task to even equal him. Always the savior, whenever a teacher stumped the class with an abnormally complicated question. He seemed to have an answer for everything. Although his disposition was that of a naïve, innocent person, none of his classmates took him for granted. He had truly gained the respect and admiration of his classmates, not only with his wit, but also with his side-splitting distinctive humor. Yet, he felt he had no one in this world. No shoulder to rest on, no friend to share his feelings with.

Ragh was sitting on the curbstone right outside school, deep in thought. He seemed so oblivious of the traffic, the noise, the world. He was lost in his own Utopia. Nothing seemed to bring him back to reality. And suddenly, in a fit of madness, he jumped up and ran towards the road, arms flailing and mouth wide open, shouting, “Here I come, lord”

His emaciated body invited a sense of empathy. His mangled corpse was lying on the road, arms spread open. It signified something. He came to this world with nothing, and was leaving with nothing. He was free. He was rid of all his fears, his qualms, his uncertainties. Finally, he was emancipated.

- Inspired by a true life incident

Outset!

Finally, after months and months of scrutinising and criticising blogs, i decided to jump in the bandwagon and start one of my own! Yes, there is a slight possibility of sheer boredom for creating this blog, but I'm hoping to take it up as a serious past time. Bouquets and brickbats optimistically entertained.

"Welcome to my world, children"