The Pencil Boy! I Love him!

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“Hey, Pencil boy…” He shouted loud.

The pencil boy ran, in pleasure, towards his only customer he hardly got in that whole day. They were very large pencils of thirty centimetres long, and of different colours. Vicky changed his gaze from pencils towards the boy and passed it all over him. His hands were filthy, lots of sweat on face and all over dress, salt linings all over shirt were precise, neck full of dirt, at least his legs were not slipper worn.

“How is this business?” He asked.

“Hmm….” He sniffed, with distress. “No one shows interest in buying these kinds of pencils sir, not even kids. But, I must live only on this sir”

“Hmm, good,” In reality, Vicky didn’t understand a bit, why he must live only on those. “Each pencil costs how much?” He asked with smug look, expressing his offer.

“5rupees sir, just five rupees” Pencil boy said, trying to make a positive impression.

“Give two.”

That all, pencil boys face was delighted, he was in sky. “Take these, sir” he handed two pencils of orange and red colour.

“But I like green and white.” Vicky smiled. But expression on Pencil boy’s face didn’t fade.

“Take them sir.” He handed Vicky’s desired colours and tried to retake the previous two.

Vicky yanked his own hand, “These are your first sold pencils of this day, your first money, Lord Lakshmi’s sentiment. You must not take them return.” Vicky said confusing pencil boy. “It means I’ll take all the four.” Vicky said amusing him.

“Thank you sir, really thank you.” He said, emotionally delighted.

Tapping his shoulder with smile, Vicky turned towards his left casually, there he saw a board. His smile faded a little and an idea struck his mind. Then again, he turned towards the pencil boy, “My Deepu loves pink and Subbu ji loves Black, do you object if I take another two?” He asked over whelming him. “Thirty, right?” Vicky handed all the money he got in his pocket.

Enthralled pencil boy slowly walked certain distance, and turned back.

“Sir,” He shouted. “Yes,” Vicky turned back.

“It’s been two days, since I’ve eaten something sir. Thank you.” The guy’s lighted face filled Vicky’s heart. He smiled and pointed towards the board he saw before sometime. It read “Full Meals just for rupees 30.” The boy was much delighted and he was inside it in few minutes.

Gangster: Origins. . .

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(My first writing ever, ages ago!)

On a real sunny day, sun was shining bright, high in the sky. Blazing in that mid day a black metallic Benz was gaining intense acceleration disturbing the settled sand and the silent wind of the sleeping desert. It was looking as if the car’s roof was on fire, burning and blazing in that high noon sun. It was dusting the sand of desert with its fierce velocity.

An isolated wooden room present in mid desert was its destination. The black Benz broke its speed before the wooden room. The whole pace was filled with dust disturbed by the dusty Benz. Nothing happened for a long time. Silence hovered all around. After laps of time, the door of black Benz was opened. A tall man in a black suit stepped out of the car from the back seat. He buttoned his black suit glaring towards the door through his black sun glasses. He took out a small black silver lined heavy suitcase with his right hand and exchanged it to his left. He wants his right hand free to hold something else more important. He closed the door of car. He turned towards the sun, which is shining in his blue eyes through glasses. He walked towards he wooden door.

His height made him look attractive. His muscles suited his height. His frozen lips reflected his attitude. Continuous gaze towards the door and gun in his right hand revealed his intention. His yellow hair with black lining gave him the look of a ‘Gangster’

He didn’t utter a single word standing before the door, the long hair stands moving randomly before his eyes cause of the dusty wind didn’t at all alter his gaze through his glasses or his frozen attitude.

After a long time, the door opened at a sudden. A thin, muscular, long black haired hat-man with a long black cloak up to his knees opened the door having a cowboy hat on his head and a with a tooth pick in mouth. Stranger didn’t alter his gaze. He gently shifted it towards the hat-man. The hat man was still holding the door with his right hand with his face towards the ground and his hat towards the stranger.

The hat man looked towards the black silver lined suitcase and raised his head towards the stranger with a long grin. He welcomed the stranger into the wooden room motioning his hands inside with the same smile. Then the stranger slid his gun inside his pocket. He adjusted his suit with half smile and entered the room leaving the dusty wind out.

Room was too small in size which can hold a maximum for six or seven persons to stand. A table was placed at the centre of the room with two chairs facing each other. Two completely head-shaved fatty goons were present inside the room gazing towards the stranger, holding shot guns leaning to their shoulders. Stranger didn’t bother them. May be they are not his interest or maybe they are ‘nothing’ in his concern. He sat on a chair as the hat man too did on the other. Hat man rested his left shoulder on the chair and pulled his right leg forward resting on the table too much and kept his silver pistol on the table and rested his right palm beside it. Stranger too took out his gun from his black suit and handed it on the table. The hat-man knew the story of that pistol. After a few moments of silence he placed the silver lined black case on the table and opened it facing himself. Then the two goons pointed their guns on stranger with smug smile. Everyone in room except the stranger was wearing the same smug smile. Then the stranger gave a sly smile looking towards the hat man. Then, they fell in confusion. The stranger partially raised his hand raising two fingers towards the sky and his smile grew.

May be that’s the first time he had ever smiled then. Yes, he likes killing. But he loves killing the people who tries to kill him.

In few seconds, the small wooden room as flooded away in the hurricane of bullets; except the wooden pieces behind the back of the stranger, everything was destroyed, made into pieces. The fatty goons died without knowing how. May be hat-man was facing the stranger and the stranger himself worked as shield to him. He was alive. No one spoke. Stranger was still in the same position while hat-man was stumbled in fear and was panting in confusion.

“Aaaahhhh…….” he growled and dragged his silver pistol in moments. The next second he pointed it on the stranger. Nothing happened. Sun was directly projecting towards them. Wind carrying dust was touching them through the broken wooden pieces. Again smug smile possessed the lips of that hat-man. Stranger didn’t utter a glance. The next very moment, all at a sudden the stranger dragged a pistol from the case and shot the hat-man’s head. Body of the hat-man sank down. Stranger was still for some moments looking towards the hat-man. Fixing his gaze on the dead body, he stood up angrily maintaining his attitude. He replaced his pistol in case took his silver gun into his suit pocket. Adjusting his suit he walked towards the car. Again he started dusting the settled desert.

GANGSTER ORIGINS……

(To be continued. . .)

Actually, I don’t know weather I will continue or not, I just wrote the statement when I first wrote this!

Ooh, thank You for your encouragement, I’ll try to continue!

The Boy Who Want to Dance with Whores!

“Yes, he really wants to dance with whores.”

“No, idiot. . . I don’t want to dance with whores! I want to dance with a single one! Whore. It’s a singular form!”

“Ooh, not whores, just a single one?”

“Yes, only one, now continue your writing!”

“Okay, sorry.”

That’s it, you yourself heard him, and he wants to dance with a whore! Singular form, just one!

One day, he says, he saw a whore accidentally, and was in love with her.

They are four friends, who make articles for a local magazine. That month they wanted to make an article on Hijras (A strange choice for a group of college students!). It was idea of Mani Ratnam, the one who chooses the prompt of the article every time. And with him all the other three team members were sailing.

“Where can we find them?” Vicky asked one guy who was walking across the street. It was not so easy to find their community in the town; they do not live with different people here.

Looking strangely at them, “I don’t know.” He replied and walked off.

“Are we asking him to take us with him? What is there to show us the route?” Mani scowled.

“Wait yaar (love or friend) I’ll call the auto-uncle.” Vicky said, slipping his phone out of his pocket and started dialling that auto-uncle’s number (the one who named the area of Hijras).

Before he could dial, “Wait, look there.” Jaggu stopped and pointed towards someone walking across the road.

She was a Hijra, wearing green saree, having tattoos all over her body.

Mounting off the bike, Mani and Vicky walked towards her, while Jaggu and Mouli did not dare.

Hesitatingly, “Sister” Mani called out.

Vicky too felt a bit fear inside. Not fear of getting beaten or something, but fear of facing the un-experienced! We all have that, and it takes a bit to get along.

“Yes,” she turned back towards them.

“Sister, we are making an article on Hijras.” He said politely. “I want to talk with your head or leader or, or someone like that.” He ended stammering.

Vicky’s legs were stretched, his body slightly turning back, arms parallel to ground and he was getting ready to run!

“Jaya ji!” she said, “Go straight and take that turn.” She said, her face delight.

“Thank you.” They were much delighted.

They went all the way, and the road split into two, and they didn’t know which is that that turn. On Jaggu’s advice, they took right turn. The area was completely different. It’s the true slum of India.

In some distance, they saw huts, and one Hijra standing on mid-road. Vicky sipped in fear courage, but Mani’s face was glowing like a thousand watt bulb. “God, save us!”

They went near her, and slowed their bikes down.

“I. . .” Before Mani can say something, she approached them in an instance.

“Two are free, she is three hundred and. . .” She pointed towards a girl.

“No, no, we are not here for that.” Mani said, panicked. “We are here to meet Jaya ji.”

As the discussion went on between the Hijra and Mani, Vicky saw towards the girl towards whom the Hijra pointed.

She sat on a half broken, plastic stool which is placed on one side of the road. She had a beedi in her mouth, smoking out. Widening her legs, leaning her body on to her knees, her eyes were cold as ice. “They were no feelings in them, except hatred towards the entire world. May be she wants to burn us all?” Vicky says till date.

She was not at least nineteen in Vicky’s expectation. She wore worn out dresses, her hair uncombed, and her face was rusty. She was smoking all the time. She saw towards Vicky into his eyes, angry. . . . Always!

They turned their bikes back, and they were on the way towards that Jaya ji.

Vicky didn’t spoke all the way.

“300 is a pretty good deal!” Mani said laughing, but Vicky remained silent. Then, Mani saw Vicky through his rear mirror, Vicky’s eyes were red and he remained serious.

Breaking the bike’s speed, “What happened?” Mani asked in horror.

“That girl. . .” He said, his voice stumbling.

“What?”

They all hovered around him. “What had happened Vicky?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” He screamed. “Must she be like that till her death?”

Silence remained.

“I want to live with her. I want to hold her tight.”

“Vicky, you are a bit moved, that’s it. Everything will be alright.”

Lowering his head, he remained silent for a while. “No,” he said. “No Mani, one day, I will return to her, I will hold her, I will be with her, I will be that one guy who makes her world beautiful, who turns her world around, who makes her feel, this world is not as hard as her hell. I will be with her till her end.” He said, confidence emitting in his voice.

“Why?” they frowned. “She is a, she is. . .” they slowed down, “A Whore,” they whispered.

“Yes, maybe that is why. . . I love her. . . I want to dance with her in the moon light.”

“What?”

“Yes, I want to dance with a Whore, do you care, or do you dare stopping me?”

I don’t know properly who this ‘V’ guy is, but I want to know him completely, why he was moved by her and loved her so deep!

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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Fireside Chat.”

She is gone, and he too knows it. His eyes said, “I need you”

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“I’m leaving,” he said standing at the window of the bus, “forever.”

Turning her face off, “Yes, I know that,” She said. Her voice clearly heavy and we all know that it was the lump in her throat.

“Lalitha,” he called her. His eyes were red as blood shot, and were nearly at the edge, ready to drop off their burden.

“Satish,” she said, sipping her pain in. “Good bye.” She said, throwing him into the endless pit of pain.

He is leaving today, to U.S.A for his further studies, and he (we) knew Lalitha would be married at the time he returned. We endeavoured every single possibility to fetch her for him. But we couldn’t. She is from a backward class family and her fate was already written. Though I don’t believe in these, “Nobody can never ever change the written script on our forehead.” Still he tried. But she didn’t. She gave up. But he is still trying to balance the huge slab just on his two hands, but how long can he do that without the remaining two pillars?

No, not so long.

“Look mere yaar (my friend), now there will be a romantic tragedy track between them.” I said to Pessy, another friend of ours on whose shoulder I was leaning.

He smiled, just for my concern. “Stop it Vicky.” He said, shrinking his lips. “That is not funny.”

“Ooh, is it not?” I laughed out. “Why won’t you see straight into my eyes? Why won’t you reveal the pain you are hiding in your tears? Why won’t you say out my name with your love? Why won’t you leave the world, wrapping me up in your hug?” I sang out. (Yes, that really is one good stanza, thank you!)

“Vicky!” he said, gesturing to be silent.

“I can’t be without you.” He said. I feared if he would cry. I know if he starts crying now, no one can ever control him.

“I know,” she said, her voice getting heavy every second.

“I Love you Lalitha.”

“Ooh, here the Rambo goes Romeo, so romantic.” Do not think twice, it was me.

“Vicky, stop!”

“Okay, I will. But what is Mani doing? Is the kitty crying with cutie?” I laughed out again.

“Who knows? Be silent now, don’t mock them.”

“Ooh, fu. . .” I was about to complete, but Pessy slaps me every time when I use them. So, I must be careful. “No freedom at all.”

“What?”

“Nothing” I mumbled.

“Lalitha, please, say me that you really want to be with me.”

“Satish,” she turned for the first time. “Please,” she placed her palm on his hand, “please.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“What can you do?”

I thought he will read the list of the things which are impossible but enough-to-impress a girl. But he didn’t, he lowered his head. Then, there was a long span of silence. A tear rolled down his eye, and reached the ground. Soil wetted and the tear sunk inside. Don’t know why, my heart was heavy then.

“I can do nothing.” He said. Biting his shoulder controlling the weep, he turned towards me, unknowingly. Our eyes met for a few seconds. I swear, I saw his mourning heart through his eyes.

“Pessy,” I whispered.

“What?” he asked, simply.

“He is crying yaar.”

“Ooh, are you caring?” he asked, stunning me.

I didn’t know what to say. “No, I’m not.” My voice stammered, due to the hesitation inside me. “But. . .”

Before I could say something, he gestured to be silent.

“Then, why do you fight?” she said, her face was pink and her cheeks were shivering, due to the cold inside. “This is a worthless fight. . .” before she could complete, the bus engine revved.

Satish’s eyes started bursting out, slowly.

“Pessy, the bus is leaving yaar.” I said, pain was increasing in my heart and I was not able to say “Ooh, fuck this love!”

“It goes anyway.”

“Stop it!” I shouted, not even knowing to me. “How can you say that so simply? He is our friend and he, he is crying just wanting to be with her, and she, she, and she is going to cry yaar. She is just controlling before him, just not to make him much weaker.”

Pessy did not speak out, but looked deep in my eyes. As the bus revved again, we got distracted towards them.

“Lalitha.” He said, his voice trembling terribly. “Be with me Lalitha.” He begged. “Please Lalitha, be with me. I can keep you happy in my smile, I can keep you safe in my heart, I can keep you. . .”

Before he can complete his heart’s words out, she closed the window. I know, she was sobbing inside.

He did not move, “please,” he mumbled.

“Pessy,” I said, looking towards Mani, who was a bit far from us, looking at them. His eyes were wet, his nerves were pounding, but he too knew, we can’t do anything.

“Let him be at least when you are not.” He said.

“Am I not?”

The bust jerked. Satish lifted his head, with tearing eyes. Bus started moving slowly. For the first two seconds, he did not do anything; he was moving his head in confusion and fear of missing her. Then, he started knocking the window. “Lalitha, please”

She did not open the door.

“Lalitha, please Lalitha, please, Lalitha.” The bus started moving much faster.

Then, we heard the breaking cry from the other side of the window. It’s Lalitha, I’m sure.

“Lalitha, open at least, give me a chance of seeing into your eyes for the last time. Please.” He ran along the bus as long as possible, knocking the window, but she did not open. My eyes were crying. . .

She did not open.

My eyes were tearing; I wiped them immediately, without anyone’s notice, and stood recklessly as I did never bother.

With weak walk, he reached us. Mani’s eyes were wet as were Pessy’s eyes.

Satish walked straight to me, and stood before me with crying eyes.

I didn’t know what to do. “I’ll leave then.” The most stupid thing I’ve done in my entire life. (No, I’ve done much worse.)

He just looked straight into my eyes, and his eyes spoke to mine. “I need you.”

Kill Them All! Kill the already-dead Grandpa!

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“Hey come on, I’m sorry,” I said again, but she did not listen, as always. “Yamini, I’m sorry.”

The girl kept on walking fast, away from me. I couldn’t see her going away from me. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She kept on chanting the same piece.

“Hey, come on stop.” I held her hand, and she stopped. “Yamini,” I cajoled.

“Leave me,” she said, not even turning towards me, still sobbing. “I’m sorry, not you.”

“Yamini, look,” I pulled her hand, but she stuck and did not move. “I Love You. . .” I said softly. “I Love You Yamini, won’t you look at my eyes? Won’t you look into your sky?”

“No, I won’t,” she said, shocking me.

“What? Turn idiot.” I dragged her towards me, and by god’s grace, the next second, she was in my hug, getting crushed in my arms.

We were on her terrace, a pleasant evening (it would be much pleasant if she didn’t cry) with silky breeze speaking in a mellow tone. Who wouldn’t love that moment to spend in our loving ones hug? I too wanted the same, but I’m the Maestro of making disasters! That’s what happens every time.

I took her completely into my arms, tight; as if never wanting to leave her (I actually must leave in the next ten minutes!). Wrapping my arms around her slim, curvy waist, I looked straight into her eyes. Her glittering, glossy eyes into mine, “Won’t you look at your sky?” I asked again.

Her hair was falling onto her face getting disturbed by the gentle wind. Locking it behind, “I can’t spend a single day without doing so. . .”

She had wide opened, fish like blue eyes (Black of course, it’s an effect!) resembling a lotus petal, with  brown, shiny iris and black pupil. Her heavy, wavy eye lids were flopping before me, taking me completely in. They were gleaming due to the moist still present inside them. They really were mesmerizing.

Then, a tear gently rolled down her beautiful left eye.

I couldn’t control mine, as my eyes became moist that second, “Yamini,” I whispered, taking her cheeks into palms. With my thumb, I wiped off the rolling tear. “I Love You.” I said, trying to control my overflow.

“I Love you too. . .” she whispered back.

“I love you more than what you do.” I again started teasing her.

“Please,” she said, again the same lump in her throat, the same heaviness in her voice.

“Sorry. . .”

“Can I kiss you?” she asked, softly.

“What? Will you really?” I wanted to scream, but I didn’t want to scream and spoil my ‘First Kiss.’

“I think you can.” I said, not so confident.

Her lips were carved into a sharp smile, may be cause of my not-so-confident answer. Looking still at my eyes, she rose on her toes, closed her eyes, I was still looking at her lips, eager to know ‘How to kiss.’ Some how she knew me and she raised her left hand and herself closed my eyes with her palm.

Her lips were near mine, I can feel. I can sense her trembling breath on my chin. I can smell it (Colgate!). She was a second-far from my lips.

It’s going to happen, my first kiss.

First Kiss, yes.

After a second,

Lips didn’t touch but, I felt her both palms on my chest. All at a sudden, she pushed me away. In fear, I opened my eyes.

“What happened?” I screamed out in true terror.

She did not speak, but pointed somewhere, silently. When I followed her tip, the one I found was a white pigeon.

“It is a pigeon, so what?” I yelled out in real confusion.

“It is not just a pigeon, it is my grandfather.” She broke my rage.

“What?” I screamed as the huge tide of uncertainty gushed over me. She is white in colour, that’s okay. But, “Why don’t you have wings and beak then?” I asked, still perplexed.

“Stop it Vicky,” I saw some emotion in her eyes, “When my grandpa died, to control my sob, my grand ma said that my grand pa’s soul went into a pigeon. From then,” she paused.

“Come on say me.”

Giving an unsure-glare, “Nothing, come down.” She held my hand, “Let’s get down.”

I was terrified, horrified, I was ‘every synonym’ to these words. “What about my kiss?”

“What kiss? Come down, may be my grand pa did not like it.” She strode down the stairs.

“Your grand pa. . .” I clenched my fists and nerves pour out. “I will slit his throat out. . .” I mumbled. (She would kill me they were audible!)

“Are you coming?” she screamed after getting down.

“Yes,” I out cried double louder, trying to reflect my anger. “Before that. . .” I searched for some stone which I saw just before, and in few moments I found it. “Let me see your grand pa chock.”

“Kill them all!!” Picking the stone, I howled and threw it towards ‘him’ very furiously. “Kill the already dead grand pa!”

Do not bother, the girl and her grand pa had mastered the art of escaping!

The Dark World: (A true inspiring tale) Then he knew why he couldn’t actually see, even it is clearly visible.

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Vicky is one of the most famous guitarists and amazing poets in the town. His voice is mesmerizing as are his words. He is a philosopher too sometimes, who could touch the floors of our hearts, with his impeccable theories. His songs were built on the same philosophical theories, which can’t be seen through a simple pair of eyes. He can feel the beauty of the world around him. In every aspect, he enjoys his life.

One can find him at the beach anytime. Clinching his eyes tight, with pounding nerves at his neck, just as if praying the sky itself, he raises his head singing out loud. He won’t bother the people around him, he don’t care. Why would he when he had a separate world? The only thing he knows is to offer his prayer to the great sea surging onto the beach before him.

He sits silently on the beach, zips off his guitar cover and places it beside him, and takes the jumbo guitar into his lap. As if taking all the sea breeze in, he inhales, and lets out a heart full smile. Locking his long hair behind his studded ear, he strums his favourite guitar chord ‘C’.

He lets out his fears, tears, his coldness, and his loneliness before the sea. He weeps sometimes. In the same time, he laughs out and spends all his day before it, singing or talking to his ‘friends’.

He says that the sea is his only best ‘friends.’

Everyone knows him in the town, and he too has a few human friends in the town, with whom he prefers to spend a bit less time.

“Why do you sit before the sea all the day?” one his friends, Lalitha asked him, for which he just smiled. “Come on, why do you sit before it?” she probed.

He didn’t say the reason, but said something unacceptable. “Sea is not ‘it’, Sea is ‘them’.” He said, zipping his guitar bag and taking his walking stick to leave home.

“Them?” Lalitha frowned in confusion, gazing at the sea.

“Yes, of course.” He said, wearing his guitar on his back, leaving. “Sea is ‘them’.”

“But, but how?”

With a chocking smile, he turned back towards the sea. “Can’t you feel?” he asked, placing his palm on Lalitha’s thin shoulder. “Sea is not just a sea. It is the combination of waves and still water.” He started explaining to her. “The still water is the bold husband, who stands fearless, courageous and royal, and the wave is the wife which is always possessive.”

Getting interested in the topic, Lalitha asked, “Possessive?”

“Yes, very. That is why she never allows anyone or anything alien to get mingled with her husband. Throw a stone in, it returns it to you, may be somewhere else. Not even a stone she permits to get inside her husband’s heart.”

“Beautiful,” Lalitha said, looking towards the sea with Vicky’s sense. “Then, what does this king do?”

“He,” Vicky moved a bit towards the sea, “He loves his wife much than what his wife do.” He paused, “Not for a second he can leave his wife. He keeps on dragging her towards him, the every single time she goes away to throw off the intruder.”

“Great love,” Lalitha muttered.

Vicky, inhaling for one last time that day, was walking back.

“Vicky,” she called, keeping up with him. “How can you see so much even though you are blind?”

Laughing out loud, “If a lifeless thing can have the never-ending love story, why couldn’t a blind man see it?” he asked.

Lalitha did not answer.

“I don’t see that with eyes Lalitha,” he said. “I see that with my heart. I hear their bickers with my ears. They are so much romantic sometimes. And finally, the couple plays a much better and beautiful music than me. I lose every time when I compete with them.”