First story
I’m not too comfortable putting my drawings and doodles online just yet. So here’s something that everyone’s seen online, on facebook, gmail, etc. etc.
BOOM said the sign, and also the sound all around..
It honked inside her ears like the memory of that drawn out SOUNDHORN with peacocks on either side.
The honking continued as a passing sound.
‘can’t wait to get into the fast lane’ thought the plastic face on the billboard.
Impatience is the new life, LIFE IT WITH the TEL(ling)-(L)AIR(s).
The honking crossed his path too.
‘take the smell of flowers and roses, this is a poor man’s ride, please don’t forget to pay’. The back of his ride spoke of this beautiful stranger, as he sees it everyday in his life.
It was HE, who dumped this plastic face in the INNOVATIVE STUDENT PARKING with the rest of the lot.
Late for the race, the booming horns of the traffic still rattling inside her brain, she parked her bike, and hung her helmet on the stand before the watchful mannequins guards dressed for the occasion.
Walking alongside the city scape, she wondered…Could she ever keep this feeling for ever and ever…
The peaceful feeling of the beautiful Arabian Sea on one side, and almost no traffic on the roads. CONTACT FOR THIS SITE 26773136.
The race had started on the most recent pride of Newest Worli-Sealink.
Her racer was winning. He took a picture from his phone of the finishing line through the stickers on his helmet. This wasn’t a day dream anymore. She got the picture on her cellphone.
She was over-excited, and went running to her racer. They got a picture or two stolen from their experience just then.
Oh, it was like true love painted on a wall, for everyone to see.
Noon had set in, and the clouds were on a holiday. She no longer cared for the peaceful view because she had to leave again. She went back to her ride and told those guards to open the gates for the traffic.
Everyone went back to their busy lives with a smile that had no meaning at all.
The traffic was choking by afternoon and work was back to its after lunch 2x speed.
In the middle of it all, one auto-driver saw the reality of this day. He pulled over in the middle of the stream of traffic, parked his auto on the sidewalk, and lay down under a tree on the railing, hoping to clear his confusion, longing for his brother’s magical massage. he dialed his number.
His brother was a mobile masseur, who rode on his cycle and advertised his services and details on a board stuck to the front of his ride.
At this very moment, he had just finished massaging a tired dog on a barber’s chair, and two jokers, who were getting ready to spread the word of their show that evening on the streets.
They had no money, so they paid him for his magic with many packets of amul gold natural milk – as pure as mamta herself.
Hearing the confusion and pain in his beloved brother’s voice, the masseur got on his cycle, and started riding towards him. He had had one packet of the milk, and wasn’t feeling too sure about his stomach at all. But the ride would solve it he told himself and went onwards steering through the traffic. Just then two dressed up monkeys hopped on. Not believing in reality, sometimes makes you move on uncontrollably. He kept cycling.
The purity of mamta’s amul gold milk was sabotaged when he looked up at a traffic light, facing by the backsides of three oddly shaped cow’s asses travelling with their head high in a tempo-traveller. The shit on their asses, made his stomach jump once again. He vouched to support the tatas and not mamta in their nano-making battles.
The jokers had mentioned to him about their circus having some magical powers with respect to all the animal beings in the city.
They’d said the milk has its own magic to turn everyone upside down. They’d foresighted the evening with the upside down birds on the wires. The masseur held his stomach once more, rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on them birds again and went up on the flyover huffing-puffing away.
Taking a sigh of relief after reaching the top of the flyover, he looked down, and, there was no traffic. He was shocked, not only because of the emptiness of the roads beneath him, but, by the elephant walking the main streets. He rubbed his eyes again.
He parked his bike, and caught the train, but the signs would not leave him. He walked, looking down into the train, and just before it left the station, he saw the unthinkable outside the window ‘CAUTION UNWIRED TURNOUTS’. Was mamta’s milk mixing things up in his brain ?? was he dreaming ?? he couldn’t rub his eyes no more, and continued the standing journey.
Everything seemed fine with the overflowing human train, everyone seemed content with their numbness as it went through the dark tunnels. No one noticed the monkeys. Its like they weren’t really there. Or maybe only he could see them.
He got off the next station. he remembered the man sitting with pipes of wires all around him just outside the station, where he’d parked his cycle. He thought of his brother, and tried to imagine what on earth he must be going through.
The monkeys were on a lookout, they helped him slide his way through the traffic. But even they didn’t know what was happening.
The humans had turned violent. That’s when, our man, finally started understanding the meaning of all these messages/signs that were hitting him all day. The circus was man’s creation. The only difference being, this circus, had men doing tricks, and showing tricks, for power, for money, for equality, for everything that everyone wanted. The animals were let go. The circuses had found a new point of view. It was inevitable. Night came, and so did the lights, the cameras and all the action.
Passing by the India Gate, and watching how camera driven the voices of the people actually were. The masseur, saw the circus trick in action. The camera man, was the circus master. He turned to one side, and a wave of people, with drawings/posters/slogans/candles swayed towards him. The TV channel owners are the real owners of VOICE. Because they CREATE IT. They manufacture VOICE n OPINIONS.
He ran. He ran from the darkness and the light. From the voices, and the opinions. He just ran. Only the skeleton felt real, the face, being the biggest mask aiding all conspiracy. He didn’t know what to believe or who to listen to. He sat infront of a wooden door, fearing for the monkeys he’d left behind at the gates. He ran faster than they could cycle, if ever they figured it out.
As night fell, the slogans and the chants echoed far from the circus. Songs were being sung. Songs that had really no other political meaning, but were suddenly being heard as political or Apolitical. She was really, just, only, singing about the monkeys she saw from her balcony.
Morning came, and it felt like the world had ended, and all that was left of it, was, a big white ball made of some strange material.
The clothes from the circus (show) were put out to wash and dry. It was definitely over. The dirt was significant and now it was all washed away.
It was time to go home. For the men holding the lights, and calling out the shots. There she sat, the girl who really, just really – only liked the view. The rest had done what they had come for, and were moving onwards, memorizing the contact number on the billboard along with the sea and everything in their present environment.
The masseur, had lost his mind, his monkeys, and his cycle in all this madness. He woke up on a bus station. He thanked his stars, he was sleeping and not standing when he woke up.
We live, like SHIT people.
