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"