Unfinished Story...

I looked at my elegant TITAN watch on the wrist of my left hand. It was seven. Quarter past seven. And as I looked at it, I could hear the faint ticking of my wall clock, followed by intense silence. I was thinking. These ‘thinking periods’ that I often went through were deep moments, during which all of my senses went numb. Only my brain was active during these minutes, and only the words inside it were audible to me.

Then slowly, as I began to release myself from this over-whelming silence, I raised my hand in the air and shouted out loud. “That’s it!” I couldn’t bear the wait any longer. I felt something boiling inside me. And that, my friends, was the very famous rage of mine which you must surely be aware of if you want develop an understanding for some of the very crazy things you are going to hear from me in the future.

I was an ordinary common man living in the busy city of Pune in India. I said ‘I was’. I had no special talents or unique traits that differentiate the extra-ordinary from the rest of the world. I was a very simple man with no aspirations or dreams of becoming wealthy and well-known. But, dear reader, do note that I am using the past tense in these sentences about my personality and reputation, which have now remarkably changed. The story that you have now turned a page to read is all about the incident that changed my entire life: everything.

Well, I would like to take a sentence from this book to introduce myself. My name is Murthy, Satya Murthy. (I’m not as great as Mr. Bond, but I’m trying my luck to get popular with you!) I was a Software Engineer working in MADELLYNE. I shared a small cabin with one of my colleagues. And that was where this story began.

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Still

A landscape of feathers The smoothest natural canvas, For Nature's painter- Alighting while parading its beauty Before retreating Into a well-worn easel. Soot-black, rust-grey, brown like tinsel, Folding up and pulling down the covers Over grace, beauty and space, Compounded with distance, Rendering known unknowns, beautiful art. Now mingled with unknown knowns, Streaks of color paint the marauded canvas Differently. Camouflage seems eminent, Unimportance, inadvertent. The marvels Of the aerial world, beget stupor as They transform into the pedestrian In the realm which is terrestrial. The miracle of flight now a bane, As for food they must forage With feet, not fly with feathers. I don't want to startle them. It is silence that beckons them to the ground. Startlement stirs them upwards, into the skies, Simpering, whimpering, not soaring and diving- Trespassers on a land where they are weak, Vulnerable- they know they can't win. Aviation is a weapon futile against...

The Tree Says 'Hi'

The tree says Hi! My balcony was briefly an arboretum. Windswept leaves splayed over the floor Like champion specimens -parts of a fine species- Careening into a welcoming sanctum That is otherwise empty- save for clothes on stands Or people on feet. When this tree paid its timely visit Luckily, there was nothing, no-one. It probably seized A rare chance- when it was out of anchor, fit and fine, In form- and the tiled floor bare. No sign of occupation. It bore its way past the metal rails that serve to Prevent our falls, but here cushioned the tree's. It rested its somber branches easily on the rail, Which is mighty strong and sturdy, as I can now discern. It snooped its slender branches threateningly over A cauldron of leaves. Green cauldron, green sorcerer. When I woke, there it was, unshakeable, unmovable. Oh, it was mobile alright. It'd have moved of its own will. It was merely enjoying its soiree in a forbidden land, Like we all do. But it just stared at me, with compo...

Clandestine

Sometimes we wait too long, To speak our minds. We let lingering truths linger, We let sporadic clocks, chime.. We allow patient seams to fritter away Like a sparrow does with the timber of the tune That she was shrouded by; shrill words tearing Ears, each word she utters, careful, today. While the first day it was a free reign, until Some unctuous winds carried to her, criticism. Just the same way as copper utensils in a house Of steel, are anyone's delight, until bronzed, With wear and use, both are the victims Of sundry needs and glances. Just the same way, some things, Are stowed away in careful pockets Because they have borne a lot of perusing When kept in the open. Like love. Like hurt. Like envy. Like silence. Trust and truth are two things I can list, That are given, that are l'habitude. I tell the truth because it is, it exists, It is what I perceive, it is what I've lived.. And I keep your trust, because I've learnt That it'll help you keep mine, it wil...

The Happy Wanderer

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