160 - My Bitch

A jet black beauty
With soft brown eyes
I wanted to own her
Wanted to make her
My bitch
I stretched my fingers
And a cruel voice roared
“Watch it, man! She Bites!”

What can you say in 160 characters? (spaces included). I've seen this on Waystation's blog for a long time, but never before have I attempted anything of this sort. Until now.

The Jolly Woods

In the small, happy Jolly Woods
Where the animals lived wild and free
There came a stranger, one fine day
A fluffy, brown Rabbit was he
"Looking for lodgings, a small burrow
That's all I need in my life
A small family of two, we are
Mr. Rabbit, and his dainty little wife."
"Oh, Welcome, dear one! Please, stay with us!"
Said the wise owl, perched above
"Percy, William, the whole squirrel clan
Show these strangers some love."
"Just a burrow, thanks," said Mr. Rabbit
"That's all we need for tonight"
With an important twitch to his bushy tail
Said Percy, "I have one; for you, that's just right."
Mr. Rabbit and Mrs. Rabbit,
Down the cozy burrow they went
"It's great! Just right! What a marvelous sight!
But pray, tell me, what's the rent?"
Percy laughed, and said, with quite a flutter
"No rent in these Jolly Woods, do we take
Just learnt to love, one another;
Only that, but for everyone's sake."
"'Tis easy for us, we're rabbits," they thought
"We'll show them what love's meant to be"
And with a loving heart, bidding a loving farewell
Down the lovely burrow, Mr. Rabbit, went he
A few days later, on a bright shiny morning
Out of the burrow, a small rabbit poked his head
Then another, then another, then another, then another
Four more rabbits appeared in his stead
They laughed, they sang, they played around
The new rabbits felt the animals' love
They sat in the bushes, while the black cuckoos sang
The love songs of the Turtle Dove
In the evening, it was time to return
So they marched home, all well fed and stout
And they reached the burrow, but what a sight did they see!
Ten more rabbits, from the burrow, they popped out
The wise owl fluttered down to the rabbit hole
"This must stop! There's no space!" said he
"We're rabbits! Our family, we love," Said Mr. Rabbit
As two more rabbits jumped out in glee
Soon, the forest grass was nibbled away
And no leaf got a chance to grow
For just as the bud would begin to unfurl
There flashed a rabbit's deft paw
"The rabbits are too many!" "We have to flee!"
"Run away, everyone!" the animals cried
But in the ever growing crowd of the brown rabbits
The animals were lost, as much as they tried
The birds flew away, the squirrels scampered off
While the other animals, they were all stuck
"Sorry, we couldn't stay behind! Don't want to die!"
They said, and screamed before leaving "Good luck!"
The other animals, shaking in fright
Tired and cold with dread
In their overwhelming fear
Not one tear could any of them shed
Rabbits to the left of them, Rabbits to the right of them
Rabbits, everywhere under the sun
Rabbits, they throng the Jolly Woods now
And the animals? Well, soon there were none

Again, been bitten by the Writing bug at 3 in the night. I'm not sure what's making me write poems now, but I don't mind this phase all that much.

My friend promised me that I'd be able to write something really soon. I'm glad her words came true, so soon.

The War of the Wolves

On a wild, untamed night
Before the sun cast it's rays
The wolves had their battle
The Blacks against the Greys
Their muzzles were now bloody
As the night lay deathly silent
Tired, hungry, weeping and whimpering
Knowing that the prize
The Blacks, now they claim

The sweet release of defeat
That kindness of nature
A battle to the death
They die, to kill their shame
While the Blacks hold their heads high
And howl to the dark, starlit sky
In their glory, in their glee
A little Grey cub, still alive, and fleeing
Unnoticed by the Blacks, went he

Haven't been around on this place for a while, don't think will be here for a while to come now as well. This one popped into my head, as vague and strange poetry often does pop into the head at all weird hours. To be honest, it woke me up, and I found that I didn't have much of a choice but to switch on my system and jot it down.

Haven't been doing much writing lately, nothing that matters at least. I hope that wasn't reflected too much in this one.

Selling a few Ghost Stories

Being a sales executive sucks. They lie when they hire you; they lie when they tell you about the salary; they lie when they tell you the timings; they even lie when they say they'll teach you how to lie! I had never wanted to be in this field, but things seldom turn out the way you want them to. For six months, I was unemployed; then the bills that were chasing me finally caught hold of me, and I had no choice but to accept my fate. It doesn't matter where I work, all sales jobs are the same. You lie.

Still, something is better than nothing, and certainly, some money is better than no money at the end of the month. That's how I ended up taking up this job; and now, I have a bunch of little white cards that no one but me seems to care about. I'd have given anything to have those little white cards read something like 'Nischal Parakh, Business Analyst', but I wasn't that lucky. Instead, those little white cards read 'Nischal Parakh, Business Development Manager'. That's a lie. I'm no Manager, and I certainly don't know how to Develop Business. I sell things that my company makes. It doesn't even matter what they make, I just have to sell them. End of story.

Today was an exceptionally bad day. Almost all days for a sales executive are bad, except pay day; still, today was exceptionally bad. It's lucky I have the little graveyard near my house to escape to every time something like this happens. It's been even better for me since the time I met Dr. Alan there. You might not have heard about Dr. Alan, but he was a very revered man during the time he served at the local hospital. I keep forgetting the name of that hospital, and the Doctor never talks about that place. The graveyard, however, is one place I love to haunt.

The first time I met the Doctor, however, was not a pleasant moment for me. It's not a nice thing, meeting ghosts; the air around you grows cold, the kind of cold that seeps down to your very bones. You start feeling that it's never going to get warm, and when the last little thread of hope is left that all is not lost, they pop right in front of you. At that moment, most people start screaming and running like mad, and the Doctor told me that is the reason he doesn't pop out in front of many people. The shrill screaming hurts his ears a little bit, and he doesn't like it.

I was luckier, having lost the ability to scream due to fear. I didn't scream, which gave the Doctor courage to pop out of his grave; he smiled broadly and said, "Good Evening, my dear fellow! Wonderful night, isn't it?"

It indeed was a wonderful night. I hardly found people who agreed with me so readily, so it was inevitable that I and the Doctor (or his ghost, whichever you prefer) would become friends easily. The Doctor thanked me that night for not screaming, and in turn I thanked the Doctor for not saying 'Boo!' from behind the tree to scare me. He said he hadn't done that in his life, but he did that the second time we met. He would tell you that it worked, and that I got scared, but it isn't true. I was just playing along with him.

I've often wondered how the Doctor gets to know when I'll be coming over to visit him at night. Maybe he haunts me during the daytime, follows me around and sees what's going on with my life. I don't think too much about it anymore; I've just started accepting the fact that he's a ghost, and he knows things that I will never be able to understand.

"Ah, good evening!" he said, the moment I stepped into the graveyard. He was sitting, like always, propped up against the pillow shaped tombstone, looking as though he's lying down and waiting for his grandson to get his favorite book for him. "I was waiting for you, dear fellow. Do come, and sit down!"

I sat down next to him, the leaves rustling merrily underneath as I settled down in the little pile. The moon shone above us, casting shadows as the light fell filtered through the leaves. Finally, after a long time, I was feeling happy to be here.

The Doctor kept looking at me, almost without blinking his eyes. Being a ghost, he didn't need to blink anymore. Still, the sight of two unblinking black eyes staring from a white face is unsettling, so I had told the Doctor to keep blinking every time I came. Time to time, I had to keep reminding him to do that.

"Doctor, uhh, you're not blinking," I said for the umpteenth time.

"Oh, right! Sorry," he said, immediately blinking apologetically.

"How've you been?" I asked.

"Bored! It's not very exciting, lying in a rotting wooden box six feet under the earth doing nothing all day. The sun was a bit too bright today, couldn't even get out all day long!"

"You should have tried some sunscreen then," I said with a chuckle.

"Good boy there!" he said, guffawing like an old man, "Finally, you said that out loud! Been two days since you thought that one up hasn't it?"

I nodded, smiling sheepishly at the Doctor. There are few things that escape this ghost, that's for sure.

The night dragged on, the sky turning purple as it went on. The many lights twinkled provocatively underneath the sky. I sighed, hoping that the next day would be better than this.

"I hope so too," said the Doctor. I hate it when he does that; reading minds, I mean. He keeps insisting that ghosts cannot read minds, though. He told me that my face makes it very easy for others to figure out what I'm thinking. I still have trouble believing that; that's what a sales job does to you. You end up thinking that everybody lies; even ghosts.

"You know, Doc," I began. "When I was growing up, I used to think money was everything. That's how I ended up going for a sales job. Now that I'm living this life, I feel differently. I mean, look at me – I'm 20 something, living alone in this godforsaken city; I have a fat paycheck at the end of the month, but the sort of work that I do all through the month leaves me with nobody to share that paycheck with. I have no friends, and the only faces I see regularly are those of my colleagues. Sheesh, some life I dreamt for myself!"

I guess Doc could sense a change in my mood, and foresee the sulking that would have followed after that rant. So, he said in the calmest of voices possible, sounding almost like Morgan Freeman, "It's your job. It's the one thing that you're supposed to be doing, the one thing that gives you your livelihood. Respect it, that's the most important thing. Plus, it's just a few more years that you have to work like this. I know how the corporate ladder goes these days. I've seen it happen…"

He wanted to go on in this vein for a while, but I cut him short. I didn't want to hear any of that, even though I knew whatever he said was true. Still, hearing someone else makes it so much more concrete. Hearing him tell me to hold on for a few more years was almost unbearable.

"You mean to say that I've got to keep doing this for the next few years?" I said, fighting to keep my voice down. "You mean, I have to continue being just ok getting screamed at, abused, and almost thrown out of other people's offices, for another year?"

"No job on this planet is easy, my boy. Remember that."

"Easy for you to say man," I said defiantly. "You don't get thrown out of a posh office every other day, by a two-bit peon! You don't have to suffer such anguishes; being on the receiving end of verbal abuses and physical threats every other day!"

I thought Doc would be a little offended by what I said, but he wasn't. Wisdom, in my opinion, comes a lot faster once you're dead; so does patience. That comes from my shrewd observation of Doc. He was smiling through all this, patiently waiting for me to be done. I went on.

"I have to keep shuttling back and forth from the city, every day of my life; and you know what, I've started to hate it! I hate having to lie, to cheat all those people into believing that my company is the only one that cares about them. They don't, and I have to do their bidding for them. Every day. Sure, they pay me well for it, but half of that is just to keep me shut. The other half is to put up with the intense humiliation that comes with the job. A kid spit on the back of my head today! He spit on me! Can you believe that?"

"He did? Hmm, well, why didn't you try to stop him and teach him a few manners? You could have done that, couldn't you? Made a better man out of him, eh?"

That response stumped me. I expected Doc to have defended the child, but this was not really expected. I changed tack at the speed of light. Really, is it my job now, to teach these ignorant fools manners?

"That's not all. I let the kid go, he didn't deserve a lesson of manners anyway," I said as a small justification for my inability to teach the child what his parents and his school (if he attended one, that is) failed to teach him. "This gentleman cut the line in order to get a ticket before I did. That slimy bastard, he tried to get my ticket! Started a fight, this mad man, right there in the train station."

"And what did you do?"

"I tried to stop him. He kept yelling at me, how he had to urgently get to his home for some emergency. Lies, I tell you. The man was reeking of lies."

Doc listened attentively, while twiddling his thumbs. I went on.

"He started a fistfight, can you believe that? A fistfight! A grown man as he, lying that he has an emergency at home just to get a ticket! Then, he actually has the audacity to punch me!"

"He punched you?"

"Well, he tried. He missed though – I was a champion boxer myself during those days. Still, my reflexes aren't as strong as they used to be. I swerved sideways, and my hand caught the railings. I got cut in the hand, look!"

I showed him the half-inch long gash on my forearm. The bit of blood that had seeped out was still glistening, and if I concentrated, I could still feel that throbbing pain on my hand.

Doc looked at the wound in horror. I told you, it was a really bad wound. It hurt me a lot when I clenched my fists hard; Doc could understand just how bad it was. The shock of seeing the blood and the wound caused him to jump half a foot in the air, and his decapitated head fell off from his neck. It's a funny sight, when that happens.

"Oh God, turn that wound away!" said the Doc's head from the ground. "That wound, my God! How did you make it through the day? That must have been so bad, my boy. So, so much worse than my own botched up beheading! This wound, it must have hurt you a lot! Oh, you poor, poor boy…"

He went on like that for a while, but I don't remember much of what he said after that point. The sarcasm of his words hit me hard, and I shut up.

A Reunion

Many moons later
They met again
She had changed for the world
But to his eyes, she was the same
He ignored the wrinkles
That now lined her face
And the streaks of white
Blended with her jet black hair
His eyes still saw the twinkle
Her eyes had always borne
Her feeble arms, she raised
Embracing the man
And wishing, he was a boy once more
He remembered her voice
He heard her sing, every day
For twelve years and twelve months
Till 'Growing-Up' took him away
But although his boyhood had run out
Although his life went on
Even though the distances had grown
A part of his heart, with her it did stay

For Hire at 2 AM

First time for Mudita and Sunandini at TGIF on a chilly Friday night, and they were in love with the place. The ambience, the entire feel of the place, plus the warmth of it – they just wanted to run back inside, hoping the party would still be on.

Mudita was visiting her cousin after a very long time; 12 years had passed since they had last met. Sunandini did not even remember the last time. She had been a little pigtailed girl, unsure of herself at that time. Now, both Mudita and Sunandini had grown up, and acquired that confidence that comes with adolescence. Both had "experienced", somewhat, the effects of the teenage years, and lived through them. They had matured over the years, and left those childhood days behind for good.

The night had been filled with loud music, lots of dancing, and a lot of vodka. Both girls were buzzing slightly, and very giggly. Much of it was due to their excitement at the fact that they had enjoyed so much at the party, but if you ask them, they'd be sure to tell you it was the vodka. Mudita was acting tipsy, and she had been doing that even during the party. Sunandini wasn't sure if she was drunk herself, nor was she very sure of Mudita's drunkenness.

"Mudita, calm down!" said Sunandini. "You'll wake someone up from that giggling!"

Sunandini was giggling herself, but she couldn't understand just how loud they were. At 2 AM in the night, even the slightest of sounds seem a lot louder than they are really.

"I'm not being loud, you are!" said Mudita, nudging Sunandini. "I'm just having fun; night time rocks! Woohoo!"

"Mudita, seriously! You have got to calm down!" Sunandini was getting a little worried about her little cousin. "The cops will be after us, Mudita!"

But Mudita didn't care. She was a grown-up now, and there was nothing anyone could stop her from doing. No one could stop her from drinking vodka anytime that she wants; and no one could stop her from kissing cute guys she just met in a party. So what if she was half drunk, or if she couldn't remember his name?

"Harshal! Hah, that's what his name was!" screamed Mudita triumphantly all of a sudden. "His name was Harshal! See, I remember!"

"Alright, Mudita," said Sunandini. The cab they had called for was finally here, and Sunandini was mighty glad for it too. "Here's the cab. Let's get inside now, it's too cold. You'll feel a lot better back at Maasi's place in that warm bed of yours. How does that sound to you, Mudita?"

"Great!" said Mudita. "Can you call Harshal over as well, pwease?"

The cab stopped right in front of them, and the driver got out. It had been a busy night for him; lots of people had somehow chosen this particular Friday night to get drunk. The fact that it was slightly warmer than it had been the past few days seemed a good idea for all the rich folks to party like mad into the wee hours of the night. Still, the business was good tonight, so the cab drivers didn't really mind.

On coming closer to the girls, though, the driver could see that one of the girls was in much better shape than the other. She looked as though she could walk into the cab without assistance, which was good. The night was still cold, and his hands didn't want to leave his pocket.

"Madam, you can manage to climb in?" he asked, just in case.

Sunandini looked the cab driver up and down with an accusatory look, and replied coldly, "Yes, I'm pretty sure I can manage it. Thanks a lot!"

'Boy, he must be at least thirty years elder to me, but he's still trying to hit on me! The audacity of these cab drivers these days, honestly!' Sunandini thought, as she helped a swaying Mudita into the cab.

The cab driver dutifully touched his hat at Sunandini, and said, "Good evening, madam. Myself Jagdish. Where to, madam?"

'Oh, so now you're pretending to be all nice and polished, are you?' thought Sunandini. 'Don't think I can't see right through you!'

"First to Vasant Kunj. We'll drop off my cousin, and then over to Greater Kailash 2," said Sunandini. "And hurry up, please. I don't want to be too late." The little backlit alarm clock in the taxi chimed once; it was 2:30 in the night.

"Yes, madam," said Jagdish, and with another touch to his hat, they were off.

"Sunanidi," said a garbled voice next to Sunandini. Mudita's speech was intensely garbled, and it took Sunandini a little while to realize that Mudita was saying her name. "Sunanidi," Mudita repeated. "Theesh cab drivers, not shafe. This time of night, you hear all shtories. No, not shafe at all!"

"Nonsense, Mudita!" said Sunandini. "Don't worry, we can manage just fine."

They had reached Mudita's house. The cab stopped right in front of her apartment, and Sunandini saw Mudita walk unsteadily up the stairs. "Wait here for a while," said Sunandini to Jagdish. "Wait till she's inside her house."

Mudita groped around with the keys for a while, but got the door open alright. The stairway was lit, and Sunandini could see Mudita's fur coat.

"Bye, Sunanidi," called Mudita from the stairway. "Be careful! Cabs, not shafe… oops!" Mudita had almost tipped over. Without another word, Mudita slammed the door, and the lights were out. Sunandini heaved a sigh of relief, knowing that Mudita was safe at home.

She turned her eyes back to Jagdish, and found him looking at her. Maybe she was imagining things, especially after what Mudita said, but she did not like the look in Jagdish's eyes. Was she just drunk and paranoid? She thought about all the stories she had heard about life in Delhi; of what happened to girls who were out alone at night. The vodka quickly evaporated from her system, and she was left clutching her seat thinking what might happen to the two girls.

'He might be a killer. Or a rapist! Or both! Oh, my god! Why didn't I ask one of the boys to come with me? How am I ever going to survive this cab ride?'

"Greater Kailash now, madam?" asked Jagdish, still looking at her from over his shoulder.

Sunandini found that her voice was choked. It took her considerable effort to unclog her throat and mutter, "Yes, please."

She sat petrified on the seat. Every passing second scared her more and more; she thought soon, she would burst with fear or anxiety or whatever the hell it was that was beginning to possess her so. She tried looking outside at the road to relax; it didn't work. She tried opening the window a little bit, let the wind play on her face for a while; the air outside was so cold, she felt worse off than she was before she had tried opening up that window.

"Madam, winter night very cold here in Delhi. Keep window closed, you catch fever otherwise," said Jagdish to Sunandini. She turned to look at Jagdish, and saw that he was smiling and waiting for her to close the window.

'Look at him, leering at me like that! Bloody, good for nothing loafer! I can see it in his eyes; he can easily be a rapist. Sunandini, what have you gotten yourself into?'

She slowly closed the window, and the stuffy cab air attempted to nauseate her again. She forced herself to focus; knowing that passing out in this situation would not be the best thing to do.

"First time in Delhi, Madam?" asked Jagdish. "You have seen the city yet?"

"It's not my first time here," said Sunandini. "I was born and raised in this place. I know Delhi inside out."

For a fraction of a second, Jagdish's eyebrows shot up. "Really, Madam?" he asked. "You know Delhi inside out? Very good. Delhi, beautiful city. So much history, so many kings and queens stay here."

'Great, now he's going back in time. Where are the sane people in this city these days?'

"Today, I go to Chawri Bazaar. Old Delhi side, behind Jama Masjid," said Jagdish. Somehow, he knew this girl sitting in the back seat thought she knew the real city, but she didn't. She couldn't; she lived in another Delhi. The Newer Delhi, as Jagdish used to think of it. So, he continued.

"That side, very old. Old houses, old roads. Cows and buffaloes walking with the men. Crowded place, very old. Beautiful place, many colors. Tasty food too. You go there sometime, I think you like it. Red Fort, very near. You've gone to Red Fort? Very nice place. Beautiful fort; Mughal kings lived there. Delhi is old, very old. You should see. Jama Masjid, Old Fort, Chandni Chowk, Chawri Bazaar, Shahjanabad. You like history?"

'Aah, this old man's giving me the creeps. I wonder when he's going to shut up! Should I humor him, and answer his questions? No, I shouldn't do that. Maybe he would think I'm interested in his stupid stories. I'd just pretend to be not interested at all; maybe that would get him to shut up.'

Thinking so, Sunandini turned to look at Jagdish, and defiantly said, "No. I hate history."

Jagdish's face fell, and Sunandini was satisfied to see that. 'That shut up the old bugger!' she thought triumphantly. For all she was concerned, she had to keep herself safe. For that, the minimal interaction she had with the driver, the better it would be for her.

They zoomed across the empty Delhi roads in the night. The sight was slightly eerie for Sunandini; where she saw snarling traffic jams every day, now the roads were empty and barren. Not a soul could be seen at this hour on the streets, and a thin layer of fog lay on the city roads. The streetlights shone bright, the rays piercing through the fog. Sunandini could see the fog rolling down the streets, and she felt as though she was flying through the clouds. For a while, she forgot where she was, forgot that it was so late in the night, and that she was in a cab, alone.

"Funny time, the night," said Jagdish. "Funny people at this time, too. Strange people, most of them. Like the gentleman before you, Madam. Funny man. Not bad man, Madam. Just, strange."

Sunandini was still floating in the clouds, and the words of the driver came slowly floating by to her. She was curious, in spite of knowing the potential dangers of asking anything to the driver, but she couldn't resist. She was too curious, so she just went ahead and asked, "Strange, how?"

"This gentleman, who come right before you," continued Jagdish. "He coming from a party. Quite drunk, couldn't recognize anything. Couldn't walk straight. Said wanted to go home, could not remember right address. Said it's in his bedroom; tell me to take him there. His friend, stand outside the car. He tell me address, then his friend walked away. I started to drive, and the gentleman thought I was friend, kept telling me about wife. Then he start talking about his friend's wife. When reached address, told me to come inside. Wife waiting for us, she cook dinner. Took me fifteen minutes to tell him the fare. Then, gentleman started crying, sitting in front of open door. Wife screaming from behind, gentleman still crying. Wife had to pay fare, and I think gentleman had to hear lot of screaming too. Yes, people very strange this time of night."

"That's an interesting story," said Sunandini, a bout of laughter threatening to burst through. "You meet a lot of people like this?"

"Yes," said Jagdish. "Part of life as taxi driver, Madam. Must go out at night, when customer calls. Must be able to drive him to destination."

'Seems like he's got an interesting life, this guy. I wonder what it's like, to be a taxi driver,' thought Sunandini. After hearing the story, she wanted to hear a little more about the life of a taxi driver. So, she thought of asking him a little more about his life.

"What other sorts of people do you meet? I mean, it must be a completely different side of life that you see at night, isn't it?"

"Yes, Madam. Very different people at night. Daytime, no problem. Night time, have to be careful. Some people, not very nice. They come at night."

Sunandini was starting to relax a bit now, even though she didn't see it coming. The night, although a bit too quiet to her liking, was very calm and peaceful. 'It's strange to see Delhi so calm. It's so hard to imagine that just a few hours from now; there would be a hundred cars with a hundred people screaming at each other at this very spot! The driver was right; Delhi really is a beautiful place. I wonder why it took me such a long time to notice that.'

"Delhi is a strange place, isn't it?" Sunandini asked the driver.

"Yes, Madam. Very strange place. So many people come and go in taxi. Some strange stories these people tell, too, Madam. Delhi a city of strangers, yes!" Jagdish said, with a small chuckle, apparently surprised at his own wit. "A city of strangers. All strangers walking around here. Day and night. But when they come into this taxi, Madam, those people not strangers anymore. They feel good inside taxi. I feel good inside taxi, too. Not my first taxi this one, Madam. Driving taxi in Delhi for thirty two years, I've seen Delhi well. No strangers for me, Madam. At least, not while they're inside the taxi."

They took a right turn, under a flyover. The lights were still twinkling, and Sunandini saw that she was almost home.

"What about when the people reach their destinations?" she asked.

"Then, they get lost amongst the strangers again; and my taxi becomes empty. I look for another stranger to make friends with, for a little while again. But, in the end, the city swallows all the strangers back again."

"You make friends with your passengers? How can you make friends so fast?"

Jagdish didn't say anything; he smiled, and took the turn towards Sunandini's house. Jagdish's words were still ringing in her ears, and she was wondering what Jagdish would be telling her future passengers about her. 'Good thing, he didn't get to know that I thought he was a murdering rapist! That would have been some story,' she thought to herself.

The taxi stopped, and she saw they had reached. Jagdish got out of the car and opened the door for Sunandini. She got out of the car, and found that she didn't feel remotely drunk anymore. All the alcohol in her system had evaporated after that cab ride, and she felt much better now that she was standing in front of her house.

"Here's the fare," she said to Jagdish, handing him the money. "I guess that makes us strangers again, no?"

Jagdish smiled, and said, "Yes, Madam. It was a pleasure to have been driving with you. Goodnight, madam."

"Goodnight…" said Sunandini, but she couldn't remember his name. She stopped herself before it became obvious.

Jagdish got into the car again, and the engine throbbed to life. From inside the car, Sunandini could hear a raucous voice singing loudly, "Chalo ik baar phir se, ajnabee ban jaaye hum dono…"

The cab drove away, and the song faded into the night. They were strangers again.

Humming the song quietly to herself, she walked into her house. She closed the door, gently, and the night went all quiet again.

***

This story has been greatly inspired by Jim Jarmusch's Night On Earth. I wanted to acknowledge that film, and the filmmaker, somewhere in the story itself. However, I couldn't do that, because I knew Sunandini or Mudita would never watch that film, and Jagdish would have a lot of language problems if he wanted to see it.

Also, I would be highly obliged if somebody could translate the lines of that song for me. Roughly translated, the line means "let's become strangers again," but somehow that does absolutely no justice to the original line; and my translation skills are horrible. Thanks in anticipation…

***

Update: For a wonderful translation of the last line, take a look at Ice Maiden's comment. It includes a translation of the entire song, from which the two lines were borrowed. Thanks, Ice Maiden.

Fallen Heroes

They had no idea where they were. They had been in similar situations, being in the army does that to you. Being in Baghdad, they had come prepared for that. They had come prepared for bullets and bombs going off. They had even come prepared for dying – at least that's what they told everyone. When the bomb went off, however, it was a completely different story.

The sound of the explosion was still ringing in his head when Marcellus woke up. He looked around, unable to hear anything that was going on. He saw bodies and blood and guts splattered all around the street. The fronts of the shops that lined the road had crumbled to dust. As he watched, a roof of one of the shops fell through. Marcellus felt himself coughing, but he couldn't hear it. He waited for the odd ringing in his ears to subside, so he could accurately know just what was going on. By the look of it, the bomb had been very powerful. Also by the look of it, he was the only one from his company who was alive at the moment.

Slowly, the ringing of his ears died out. The adrenaline from the blood sank back; the sounds of the falling debris, and the excruciating pain returned to him in full measure. He screamed, although he had been taught not to do that. He threw away his heavy rifle; what use was that now? He was dying, alone, a bloody mess, on the streets of Baghdad. He sank back, trying to lie down and find a position that would be slightly more comfortable in these last few moments of his life.

That's when he heard a terrified coughing, and a feeble moan of pain. He recognized the voice; Dominicus was alive! Marcellus could make out from the sounds that he wasn't very far off from where he lay, but he wondered if he should call out just yet or not. Was it safe? He waited a moment, but the moans of pain from Dominicus continued. Marcellus could take it no more, so he shouted towards the source of the sound.

"Dominicus! Nick! It's Marco! Can you hear me?"

The silence of the night pressed at Marcellus from all sides. As he screamed, for a few moments even the moans of pain were stifled. Then, a voice spoke. A small, tired, drained voice answered Marcellus in the night. "Marco!" it was Dominicus, "I'm hurt! I'm bleeding, from everywhere, man! Shit, I'm scared!"

"Yeah, man," said Marcellus reassuringly, "hang in there buddy. I'm right here too. Someone's bound to come over soon. Just hang in there." He could do nothing for Dominicus, not in the current shape he was in. All he could do was make sure that Dominicus knew how to keep his calm. 'Believe! Believe! They're coming for you, they'll get you out, alive and in one piece! Believe that!' Marcellus kept saying that to himself.

Dominicus wasn't speaking; Marcellus knew he had to keep talking to him. He wanted both of them to be able to make it out of there, alive. Somewhere, somehow, the task started to seem tough.

"Hey, Nick," said Marcellus in a soft voice. "You with me, man?"

"Yeah, Marco. I'm here."

"Where'd you land, after the explosion? I ain't able to place you right, brother."

"I'm up here. Lying on top of some miniature rubble hill," said Dominicus in a choked voice. "Swell view, though," he said after a pause, with a forced touch of humor.

"Yeah, I'm sure of that! How's the weather up there?" joked Marcellus, but he wasn't sure if Dominicus heard him or not.

Marcellus laughed at Dominicus' little joke, but it hurt. He had to stop quickly, even though the laughter went on inside. He missed Dominicus' jokes right now. He tried to sit up, so that he could hear Dominicus a little better, but the shrapnel in his legs did not allow him to do that very easily. After struggling to sit up for about a minute, he gave up and flopped down on the comfortable pile of rocks again.

The silence of the night pressed on them again; tired, lonely, and scared, the two friends lay. Marcellus knew Dominicus wouldn't be able to start the conversation, and he didn't want his friend to be lying there, wounded, in the darkness and the silence. Mustering all the courage and the cheerfulness that he could in his voice, he called over to Dominicus in the darkness.

"Hey, Nick!" Marcellus called. "Buddy, you remember that play we did as kids?"

Dominicus was groggy from the pain, and it took him some time to register that someone was talking to him. From a great distance it seemed he could hear someone calling his name. 'Nick! Hey Nick, wake up!'

Marcellus kept calling out Dominicus' name, even though for quite some time he got no answer from the darkness. After what seemed like ages, a faint voice answered, "Marco, that you? I'm sleepy." There was a slight pause, and Marcellus knew if Dominicus fell asleep, he would not wake up. In a desperate attempt to keep Dominicus focused, Marcellus started laughing. Hysterical laughter surrounded the rubble, and even though it hurt Marcellus to laugh, he didn't stop. It worked, and a little later he heard Dominicus' voice.

"What you laughing at?" said Dominicus, and Marcellus was glad to hear the tinge of strength in the voice.

"Random things, from our childhood days," said Marcellus. "You remember that god-awful play that we did?"

"What play?"

"Aah, I can't remember the name," said Marcellus, getting almost choked by yet another bout of laughter. "The first one that we did together, man. You got hit by a rotten tomato chucked at you by your big brother. What was that play, man?"

"Mother, May I," said Dominicus. "That was the name of the play. Mother, May I! Your stupid idea it was too!"

A small laugh had escaped from Dominicus as he remembered that horrible play the two of them had made; the story about an ambitious kid, trying to persuade his overly strict mother to buy him an electric guitar. The story hadn't been so bad either.

"If only, Marco, you could act," said Dominicus, fighting yet another snigger. "Maybe then, I wouldn't have smelled of raw eggs for two days!"

Marcellus was laughing again at the memories. "How was I supposed to know your brother would be carrying that arsenal of tomatoes and eggs, man! I mean, you hear about stuff like this only in movies!"

Dominicus was laughing at the memory now too. "Remember, Sue Allen? The girl who played Mother?" asked Dominicus. "She got smacked by a tomato, you remember that? Half her face was red 'coz of the tomato juice, while the other half blushed in fury!"

"Yeah," said Marcellus. "I remember that! God, we were such lame kids!"

Both boys were laughing at all the memories, rolling around in the rubble as they remembered their past. Marcellus was glad that now, finally, a little bit of life had been injected into Dominicus as well as in himself. He knew he had to continue talking now, though. He couldn't let go of Dominicus now, and he knew just how close Dominicus was to slipping away into oblivion.

"You were a comedian too, weren't you, Nick?" asked Marcellus. "You did funny stuff and said funny stuff too, ain't that right?"

Nick smiled fondly at the memory, and said, "Yeah, man. That was a long time ago though. A good ten years back, wasn't it? Wow! Never even gave that memory a second thought till right now! What happened to that comedian in me?"

"I dunno, brother," said Marcellus. "You were damn good too. I remember Sue Allen used to come to all of your gigs, to listen to your stuff."

"Yeah?" said Dominicus, feeling strangely glad about Sue Allen's silent presence at all his gigs.

"Yeah. She used to sit way at the back, didn't want you to see her for some reason. She liked you, but I think she took it as a hazard to come too close to you. What with the tomatoes flying about all around you," and both boys got lost in the peals of laughter again.

"Hey, Marco," called out Dominicus as he calmed down again. "You still paint and write the way you used to?"

"Naw, man. You think the army allows me to do anything like that these days? Someday, though, I'm gonna pick it up again. I still got my brushes with me."

"Man, you shouldn't have left all that. You were great!"

"Aah, cut the bullshit, man. I wasn't that cool, just loved doing what I was doing with that brush in my hand. Or that pen," said Marcellus wistfully.

"You know what this reminds me of?" asked Dominicus, a little while later.

"What, us lying here in the rubble like this? No idea, what?"

"You seen that film, Lions for Lambs? Remember those two soldiers lying in the dirt just like this?"

"Yeah," said Marcellus. "Although, I didn't really get that movie."

"Well," said Dominicus, "neither did I." The satisfied smile on his face was obscured by the dark, but Marcellus felt that smile nonetheless. The smile shone through the darkness like a spot of hope, and he thought maybe, just maybe, they could get out of this one alive.

Dominicus seemed to sense what Marcellus was thinking. He knew how futile thinking along those lines was. Somehow, Dominicus knew the reality of the situation much better than Marcellus did; he knew they were going to die, that nobody would be able to come to rescue them in time.

"Marco," said Dominicus, "I ain't scared no more. How hard can it be now?"

"What are you talking about," asked Marcellus. "How hard can what be?"

Somewhere, Marcellus knew just what Dominicus was talking about, but he didn't want to acknowledge that right at that moment; but Dominicus had the situation figured out much better than Marcellus.

"Dying, man," said Dominicus, seemingly an eon later. "I'm not scared of dying anymore."

"What you talking about, man! The sky's getting paler over there, see? It's gonna be light soon! Hang in there buddy, we're gonna make it."

"I can't see, man," said Dominicus. "The shrapnel hit my eyes. I'm bleeding from the face, I think. I'm blind. Some comedian I'd make now, eh?"

Marcellus couldn't say anything. He was hurt himself, much worse than what he thought. Still, at that moment, he could feel Nick's pain and not his own.

"What about that view you were talking about, then?" asked Marcellus. "You could see that, couldn't you?"

Dominicus smiled a sad smile that no one saw, and said, "No man, I was kidding when I said that. I guess that comedian is truly alive inside me."

"No, Nick! We've almost made it man. Trust me on that! We're almost there, just hang in there. Don't you let go now," screamed Marcellus at Dominicus.

"I'm tired," sighed Dominicus. "Dunno how long I can hold on man."

"Keep talking, Nick. Just keep talking!"

"No can do man, ain't got the energy for that anymore."

"Alright, then you just lie down and listen, ok? I'll talk, and you listen. Can you do that?"

A faint grunt of assent came from Dominicus, and Marcellus knew time had truly run out. Still, he had to try, to save this friend of his. Marcellus talked about their childhood, he talked about Sue Allen, he talked about their big houses, and Dominicus' dog. Rowdy, they used to call him. A big shaggy thing he was too, and Marcellus remembered just how much Dominicus loved Rowdy.

"You think Rowdy's gonna be in heaven, waiting for us, Nick?" asked Marcellus. "You think dogs are allowed there? Rowdy was a good guy, I'm sure he'd be there in heaven, if only they'd allow him. God, I loved that goofy dog of yours! You remember the insane things he used to do?"

Marcellus didn't get any response from Dominicus. He feared the worst, but he ploughed on bravely in spite of it.

"He used to run away, every chance he'd get. I never got it, where and why he used to run out. I mean, it's not even like he used to like staying outside all the time; sooner or later he was bound to come right back! Sly bastard he was..."

Marcellus' voice was starting to get choked. He realized there were tears mingled with the blood and sweat running down his face, but he tried not to let that show in his voice. He went on, "and that time when he chased evil-tempered Brown down the road? You remember how happy he was, just to see old Mr. Brown chasing his stick at the giant furball, before turning right round and running!"

Marcellus couldn't go on. He knew Dominicus was gone. He knew Nick wouldn't have kept him waiting for an answer for so long. He didn't care about the tears that were flowing steadily now, down his face. He didn't care about the pain.

"Rowdy's gonna meet us at the gates, man," said Marcellus. "I just know it, he knows us too well. Nick, take my word for it! He's waiting for us at those gates right now!"

He turned around to face the side where he had heard Dominicus' voice coming from, and although he couldn't see anything, it felt nice to be lying with his eyes on his best friend; the man who had saved his life twice before. He didn't know if the night was almost over; he knew that he was ready, for that final journey.

"Nick," he asked quietly into the darkness, "does it hurt?"

Marcellus got no answer. He quietly closed his eyes, and the world went dark around him.