The Contract

The day was drawing to a close. For 30 year old Manu, it was about to begin. He was sitting in an old garage not far from the town waiting for his boys to come.

He liked his profession. There were no timings for his job. They were just random, planned at the last moment. It was not a tension-free job, but he liked it. He liked killing.

Most people in the town avoided talking to him as they knew that he was a professional killer. He was so professional that the police never had any evidence to prove it. And the people who saw him do it were never brave enough to tell it.

He led a care-free life. He would spend the money from the contract killings on booze and girls. He never saved money and bank accounts never interested him.

Nobody knew about his family background. And neither did they care for it. 

But, he did have a family once. His father was a government servant. He used to hate school and his father. For his father was a strict disciplinarian. At the age of five, he decided to run away from home. And since then, there was no looking back for him.

He could heard the faint sound of a jeep coming from a distance. The boys were coming.

They stopped the jeep in front of the garage. They dragged a man out, gagged with a tape over his mouth and took him inside the garage. They made him sit on a plastic chair and tied him to it.

Manu gestured his men to move aside. He looked at the man's face. The frightened, trembling face of a man who didn't know what was in store for him.

He pulled out the contents of the man's shirt pocket. He was just interested in one thing. An identity card. He wanted to make sure it was the right man. He took a glimpse of the photo on the card and the man before him. The same striking bald head. This was the man.

"Good job boys. He is the guy." he told them. He could start with his job now.

He took out a new shaving blade. He folded it in half vertically and made 2 pieces. He took one of the piece.

He smiled at the man's face. He went behind the man and pushed his head forward so that his neck pointed to his chest. He wanted to get it done quick.

He positioned his right hand with the blade in front of his neck. Then he slit his throat.

Blood started spurting out from the man's throat. But it would be over soon, Manu thought washing his hands from a bucket of water.

Then he felt a strange sensation. As if someone had pushed a hot iron rod from his back. He saw the bullet go past his stomach and hit the wall in front of him. He had been shot.

The bullet must have torn some of his intestines as he started throwing up blood from his mouth.

He felt weak and dizzy. He knelt on the ground with his face down. He saw the identity card lying before him. He remembered this face.

He fell dead, face down on the identity card. The identity card that once belonged to his father.

Geetha's new school

"Geetha, have you taken your lunchbox?" Mom shouted from the kitchen. Today was Geetha's first day at school after coming to Mumbai.

Geetha's dad served in the army and had recently been transferred to Mumbai. As usual for army kids, the school had to be of a CBSE board. It was always either Central School or Army School.

Geetha got admitted into Army School in Colaba, Mumbai. She was earlier studying in Third grade in Army School, Bangalore when her dad got transferred.

"Yes mom, I have taken the lunchbox. It's already late! I got to go.." Geetha answered.

"Wait, have some milk before you go" mom came out from the kitchen with a glass of milk in her hand.

Geetha looked at the glass. Why did a glass of milk always have to be so huge? "Mom ... please, not now ..." she moaned.

"You have to drink it my dear otherwise you will feel very hungry by lunch time" mom said affectionately placing her left hand behind Geetha's shoulder. "Come now, drink it" she said. 

Geetha knew there was no way out. She took the glass, closed her eyes and somehow finished it off in one gulp! "Not so fast Geetha!" her mom laughed.

"Okay, get ready. The school bus is waiting down." Mom said looking out from the balcony. "Bye mom!" Geetha shouted rushing outside closing the door behind her. 

Mom heaved a sigh of relief. She was so tired from the hectic schedule of getting Geetha ready for school. "How did my mother manage with so many of us?" She thought remembering her brothers and sisters.

Geetha got into the school bus. She knew that the school was not far from where they stayed. They stayed at Wodehouse building on Wodehouse Road and the school was at R.C.Church. It was a 10 minutes ride by bus.

The bus screeched to a halt outside the school. Geetha got out wondering how this school would be. Hope the teachers are not so strict as those in Bangalore, she thought. And the students. Will she be having the same kind of fun as with her friends in Bangalore?

There was still some time before the school would start. She walked towards her classroom. 

She saw a few students as she entered it. She searched for an empty chair, found one and kept her bag there.

A short chubby girl came towards her "hey, are you studying in 3rd standard?". "Yes, this is my first day here" Geetha replied. "Oh, I am Renuka. You can call me Renu" she smiled. "I am Geetha".

"You know what!" Renu said with a mischievious smile. 

"What?"

"Our maths teacher is on leave today! We can watch cartoons during the maths period!" she said beaming. "Wow! That's wonderful!" Geetha almost shouted. She hated maths.

She smiled. She was going to have the most wonderful time of her life in this school.

A Love Story - Part 2

"How can I help you?" the old lady asked. I blurted out "Uh ... can I speak with Geetha? I ... I am her friend.'

"She is sitting in the staff room" she said pointing to a room on the right. I thanked her and went towards the staff room. The staff room had one huge rectangular table in the centre surrounded by chairs. And there she was sitting on one of the chairs reading a book. She looked so beautiful in that light maroon saree.

I summoned my courage and spoke "Excuse me". She looked up towards me and gave me that smile, the same smile that made me fall in love with her in the first place. It amost swept me off my feat. What I spoke later was barely audible. "Are you free now?", she nodded. "Can we go out for a walk? ", she closed her book, stood up and conveyed to the other staff sitting nearby that she would be out for a while.

I still don't understand to this day why she was ready to go out for a walk with a complete stranger like me. But that day changed both our lives. I believe that such is the power of love. Somehow it just connects two persons. Two complete strangers who never knew each other a few moments ago, now looking at each other as if asking 'where have you been all these years?'

We went for a walk to the army quarters nearby. I used to frequent this place as a child as it was by the sea shore and the favorite spot for us to have fun in the sand.

Both of us sat beside each other on the sand looking at the waves. Neither of us spoke for a few moments which looked like an eternity. I looked at her in her eyes and spoke "You know what, there is something in you that I like. Something in you that I was missing so far in my life till now." She nodded as if to say she agreed. I smiled.

"Can we meet often like this on weekends? I like this." She didn't say anything but just gazed at me. For me it was a signal that meant she was okay with the idea.

That's how it all started. We used to meet regularly on weekends at first and then slowly even started meeting on weekdays. First it was me who used to do most of the talking. Then guadually I learnt her sign language and started to understand her feelings, her each mood, her passions, her hobbies. 

I would often give my parents the pretext that there was some extra work at office and would be late home. Those were the days when I used to catch the last local trains while going back home.

Then there came a point in time when we decided that we should get married. It was not an easy task, as I thought my parents wouldn't easily agree to have a mute girl as their daughter-in-law.

But I was wrong. For thankfully, my mom and dad were rational and sensible enough to understand and accomodate. After seeing Geetha, they too started adoring her. We both got married on November 19, 1980.

We had 2 kids, a boy and a girl. They both did their engineering and are now on their own feet well settled, earning their own money and living in different countries.

Geetha and me stayed back in India as we felt that Mumbai was better and safer than any other place in the world. That was until last night.

I remember last night 26th November when I was in CST station. I was in the passenger hall to receive one of my friends and take him home. It was 21:20, still another 15 mins before his train would come.

I saw 2 young persons barging into the passenger hall. One guy took something from his bag and threw it towards me. I thought they were just some youngsters having fun. I do not remember much what happened after that. My shirt was filled with blood and my head was hurting. There was a deep gash on my forehead.

Before I could realize that these guys were not fun-loving youngsters, scores of people were injured or dead. I kept shouting at those guys but they never listened.

The police finally retaliated and killed one guy and captured the other. As the ambulances came to take the injured and the dead, I shouted at the paramedics to help me. But they wouldn't listen. I went mad with frustration.

Then I saw it. I saw my body being carried by the paramedics on a strether. A doctor came and covered the face. I was dead.

Now I am here standing at my bedroom window waiting for my only love Geetha to wake up. I feel a touch from behind. There she is, Geetha standing right beside me, as beautiful as ever before. I look at the bed for the last time. I know she would never wake up.

We both look at each other. She gives that smile. That is all I want. We both look up standing side by side towards the sky. The sun is shining very brightly now.

A Love Story - Part I

The first rays of the sun shone through the window and fell on the bed revealing the sweet face of my wife, Geetha. She was sleeping so peacefully with a smile on her face. The smile that made me fall in love with her.

I remember the first day I met Geetha. It was at one of the general ticket counters at the Poona (as Pune was then called) railway station. I was waiting in the long serpentine queue, frustrated that I would be missing my train. That's when I saw her. She was standing in the next line. The smile on her face mesmerized me. I wouldn't say that she was the most beautiful girl in the world, but she certainly had a smile which set her apart from the other girls.

My heart told me that I should talk with this girl. It didn't matter whether I would miss my train or not. I left my line and went towards her. Standing face to face with her made me a bit nervous as I stammered, "H..Hello ma'am, I am Rama. May I know your name?"

The next few seconds were so difficult, believe me, I felt like running off or be embarassed before everyone. She gave me a questioning look. Of course, how could she talk with a stranger?

Then she reached for her handbag, took out a card and gave it to me. It was her visiting card. Her name was Geetha. She was working as a teacher in Spastics' Society of India, Colaba, Mumbai. Spastics' Society of India, that name conjured up memories of my school days. We used to pass through that building during our bus rides to school.

I looked up towards her. She was trying to tell me something in sign language. It dawned on me that she could not speak. My heart felt so heavy thinking how could God have the heart to deprive such a sweet girl from speaking.

I was lifted from my thoughts by her companion who had bought the ticket. She gave me a warm but stern smile as if saying "thanks and goodbye" and tugged at Geetha's hand to hurry. Geetha waved her hand towards me leaving. For a few moments I was speechless, thoughtless. Then I slowly lifted my hand and waved back towards her.

Then for the next few days I completely fogot about this incident as I was engrossed in my job. Then one weekend as I was cleaning up my table at home, her visiting card caught my sight. I felt like seeing her.

I needed some pretext to go to Colaba. I remembered we buy our monthly stock of essential items like soaps, detergent etc., from Central Stores Department (CSD) canteen. It was located in Colaba just next to the Spastics' Society of India building.

"Dad, I think our monthly stocks of soaps have been exhausted" I told my father, "let me go to the CSD canteen today and buy whatever is necessary." My mother gave a bewildered look. I never used to go there out of laziness and it was my father who always went there. My father was puzzled but anyway happy to see that his son had started taking some responsibility.

I boarded the train from Dombivli station and got down at V.T. (as CST was then called) Station. Then I got the 103 bus for R.C.Church. The bus ride gave me nostalgic feelings of my school days as I passed through the good old landmarks: Fort, Regal Cinema, Colaba Market, Fathima Manzil and various others.

I got down at Afghan Church opposite which is the Spastics' Society of India building. I thanked God that the school was open today. As I entered, I saw a small reception desk at the corner. It was occupied by an old lady who was busy filling up some register.

(To be continued...)

The Remorseful Son

Inspired by a true story. The name of the character has been changed.

---

The day was nearing to an end. The station looked abandoned except for the lone begger sleeping in a bench and the empty tea stall. Mugilan sat on an empty bench nearby. The next train would arrive in an hour. He felt tired as if he had worked all day. He stretched himself, closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander. His mother. His village.

"What do you want the money for?" he heard his mother's voice. "I am planning to start some business" he said. "What about the five thousand you took last time? What happened to it?" she whispered. "You know what happened, the money got spent."

"Do you know how difficult it was for me to get that five thousand" she wailed, "none of our relatives were willing to give it, as they said you were a good for nothing. I somehow persuaded your uncle to give it."

"I know! I know!" he shouted. "But this time I promise you that this would be a very profitable business and I am sure of making a lot of money from it."

"How many times have you made such promises" she cried, hitting her forehead with her hand.

"Stop all this crying and tell me whether you would give this money or not" he said without a sign of remorse in his eyes. "I do not have this much money my son" she said.

"Listen woman, I am going out now " he scowled "and I want the money by evening when I return." He stormed out of the house in a rage.

She let her head rest in her palms and sobbed to her hearts fill. Her meagre monthly salary for working as a mid-day meal incharge in the neighbouring village's school was just enough for her living. She could hardly save anything. Whatever little she could save was spent by her son in smoking, drinking and gambling. Inspite of all this she somehow managed to get her two daughters married. They were happy and well settled.

She got up. She had to go for her work today. But before that she had to somehow collect the money. She went to her brother's house which was nearby. He had already lent her a lot of money. Last time she had to literally beg from him for the money. She was afraid of his reaction this time.

He was sitting outside. "Heard some noises from your house in the morning. Had a fight with your son again?" He queried. "I need your help" she said. "Will you please lend me some money now?" He looked at her with a scorn, "so your son has again started asking for money? Listen now, I am not going to give anymore money to be wasted by your son. He is taking advantage of you. You have to be stern with him."

"But..." her voice quivered. "Please," he said with folded hands, "don't bother me anymore. It's better dying than living a life like this."

She could persuade him no more. She took some heavy steps back to her home. Her head was aching heavily and she felt dizzy. She lit the stove to make some gruel. She gazed at the fire pondering over her troubles. Maybe she had not brought up her son well, but it was so tough for her to manage everything after her husband died.

The fire seemed to be mocking her. She smiled. It would not be for long. Her problems would now come to an end. She took one end of her saree and threw it on the stove. Everything would come to an end.

Mugilan was as usual gambling with his group of friends. At a distance he could see a fellow villager running towards him shouting his name. He felt something was wrong. "Mugilan, your mother is dead. She committed suicide." the villager shouted gasping for breath.

The sound of the distant train woke him up. It had been an hour since he had dozed off. Rockfort Express was coming right on time. He knew the train did not halt at this station. He smiled looking above towards the dark sky. The sun had set.

As the train was about to pass through the platform, he jumped onto the railway tracks. His timing was perfect.

A few local newspapers reported the suicides, but in different sections, as the body on the railway track was reported as unidentified. But none of the papers told about the remorseful son who committed suicide for his mother.

Prasanna Kshatriya

Hey, visit this blog of Prasanna Kshatriya, one of my best friend in SICSR. He is very sincere and always helpful at any moment. He is a pro in web development and PHP is his favourite server side scripting language. Ask any query and he would be quick to answer it.

Summer Of Code Proposal Submission

I just now submitted my proposal for the Summer of Code'2006 held by Google. The project is very interesting, it's about implementing the IRC (Internet Relay Chat) protocol as an Apache module. Gone down too deep into IRC to do anything else.

The meaning of Anniyan

By the way, you may ask 'what does Anniyan mean?'. Well, 'Anniyan' means 'Stranger'. It means anyone who is new. I am new to the blogging world, but no less a good blogger (I hope :-) ).