Saturday, 26 April 2014 5 comments

Yours Sensationally

"Yes, they exist…"

The Snowden of the Space industry bares all
Apr 26, 2014, 12.30 PM IST

The startling revelation two weeks ago by the well known space veteran J.E. Rider last week about the existence of extraterrestrial life forms and their knowledge being swept under the rug for years by government officials across the globe caused ripples that we have yet to recover from. As if that wasn't enough, the now in hiding, Rider, spilled a lot more in his exclusive interview with Angela Swenson and John Milton last week at an undisclosed location.
"The WOW Signal was just a tiny glimpse into the highly intrinsic and elaborate world of extraterrestrial intelligence. They've been around for a long time now and all this while we've been speculating or making fictional shows and flashy movies about them. In fact, there are quite a lot of things that we can learn from them. Their technology is beyond what you can imagine or even attempt to imagine. And they're definitely no 'little green men'", he smilingly asserts.
Rider also breaks silence about a host of other incidents all throughout history including the mystery over Flight 19 in 1945 or Roswell Incident in 1947 or numerous other unexplained disappearances and their subsequent unsatisfactory explanations and reasoning.
When probed about how officials all over the world are calling him names , some even going to the extent of deeming him as 'a crazy and delusional retired oldie' , he grows grim before smiling, "No amount of denying or covering up is going to prevent the truth from getting out. Conspiracy theories have been around for years now and they are being churned out as we speak and no amount of coercion is going to stop that," hinting at possible threats.
"I've seen more than you could possibly fathom. It's all there. They exist. Yes, they do. It's difficult to explain in a matter of a few hours. The way they've been duping us. the way we've been blindfolded, groping in the dark. That's all I can say to my detractors. I've always been a believer. In a higher power. In God. And the  one who created is surely capable of creating others like us," he signs off getting biblical. 

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Friday, 18 April 2014 6 comments

Lights Out...

"As spirits roam the neighborhoods at night, 
Let loose upon the Earth till it be light…"
Nicholas Gordon

11:45 pm

Reads the watch on her wrist.

Being the last one to leave work leaves her quite edgy. The fact that the place where she works comes with its own history only adds to it. Also, the fact that she is totally alone with not a single soul around on the Godforsaken 13th floor of one of the poshest commercial building, which serves as her workplace, doesn't help either. 

She tries to reason with herself in her head. 

Okay so every place has a history, right? I mean you can't possibly find a place on Earth where nothing bad has ever happened. In this case, it was a poor woman who lost her life in a fire. She was at the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s it. THAT IS IT. 

But another voice inside her head raised its hand and spoke before it could be silenced.

Uh… No! That's not all! That's not even half of it. 

It was that annoying voice who just had to have her say. Another version of herself. Persistent and hell bent on making her remember some horrible details she had heard people speak of. Rumors about things that go bump in the night in this edifice. 

"Shut up!" she hissed through clenched teeth as she made her way to the elevator.

There were talks of how some woman or the same woman who died in the fire that fateful night haunts the place. A lot of people had also mentioned hearing howls of a woman crying late at night. 

She could do without such morbid thoughts inside her head right now.

Her hand reaches out to press the button of the elevator summoning it to the floor when the lights go out. A gasp escapes her throat. Her heart leaps up in her chest as her pulse quickens. She keeps thinking about the woman who was burnt to death. However, she realizes quickly how foolish she is and takes a deep breath to calm herself.  
What could possibly go wrong with the light now?

As if in answer she hears a muffled sound. Feet shuffling. Someone walking. Someone walking real close. 

Could there be someone up here besides me at this hour?

The annoying voice was ready with an answer. Though it was not the one she had hoped for.
She felt kind of stupid flapping her arms in the air in front of her as she walked trying to find the stairs. 

Surprisingly, she couldn't remember where she had kept her phone. 

Wasn't it on me when I left? Why can't I remember?

The thing broke her reverie sent a chill down her spine. She could smell something burning. The hair on her neck stood as she started trembling in fear. 

The footsteps sounded even more close now. They were getting heavier. In a bid to save herself from whatever it was that was chasing for her she started running in the darkness. 

Only to bump into something. Or someone.

She staggered back from the unexpected jolt. She hadn't even recovered from the initial shock when a scream pierced the silent midnight air. The woman she had just bumped into ran in the opposite direction waving her arms frantically. 

Puzzled. That was her first reaction. 

What the hell is wrong with people these days? She scared the shit out of me! Running away from me as if she saw a ghost...

Her eyes automatically looked into the glass window in front of her. She stared into nothingness. 

A sea of awful memories drifted back to the shore of reality. She had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. It was a case of bad timing. An short circuit that caused a deadly fire no one had seen coming. And it was that day that she had to leave work late at night. At midnight. She could smell the fire now. She was breathing it. She remembered the fear it had ignited as she had screamed for help till her voice gave up. She remembered how that fire has scalded her charring through her skin eating its way to her flesh.  The fire took with it not just her physical self but also her hopes and ambitions. Her dreams and desires. Faces of people in her life that she had known and loved floated in front of her dead eyes. 

All turned to ashes. To nothing. 

The ruing sound of a woman wailing in pain filled the dark premises. 

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
Friday, 4 April 2014 4 comments

The Curious Case of Not So Warm Feet

Meera sat drumming her fingers on the arm rest of her decked up chair. Her mogra laced chignon kept irritating her. She felt it constricted her hair. She was so used to having her hair flowing and free conversing with the wind. She looked at the deluge of people in front of her. Faces known and unknown. All bearing down on her. Every stare studying her in a microscopic fashion. She felt like she was put up on display. Middle aged women scrutinizing her every move. Or what little movement she could manage in her highly restricting, heavily embroidered 20 kg designer lehenga. She could almost hear people talking about her. Passing comments. Forming opinions. Their eyes sweeping her form from head to toe. Soon these very people would not be strangers. Just her extended family. She would have to treat them as she would treat any member of her own family. Wasn't that the norm? Isn't that what is grilled into every Indian girl's head since the beginning? That she is meant to be someone else's treasure?

Her eyes tries seeking comfort from the one who was beside her, her betrothed. He sat with his eyes focused on a new batch of guests making their way towards the happy couple. He instantly looked at her motioning with his gaze that they should get up to greet the incoming. Almost as if on cue she got up plastering a smile on her face.

She exchanged pleasantries with people or rather countenances with names. They posed for photographs. As her vacant eyes scanned the room from the podium something hit her sharp in the guts. The way she had felt as a little girl sitting on the ferris wheel. Like there was something inside her that kept fluttering.

A flash passed before her eyes. Of what it would be like if she went ahead with this. Everything would change. It would begin with small things. Where she went, what she did, what she ate, who she talked to, what she wore, how she laughed, was it too loud, why she didn't find it funny, the way she carried herself. He said that he loved her because she was independent and spoke her mind. Soon he would term her way of thinking and outspokenness as disrespect and lack of manners. She would start living as per a code of conduct designed by others. And they weren't even her parents! Then there would be unrealistic expectations, assumptions and assertions. Demands from everyone that scream to be met. She would have to diverge her attention and energies towards goals that she may not always want to achieve and also towards people who may or may not deserve it or who may or may not understand its value. Where was she in all this? How did her wants, needs, desires and ambitions figure in all this? And then there was that ugly word she rarely used.


She felt the entire room grow tiny in front of her ever expanding anxieties.

Nothing is what it seems.

It was a trap!

All she could think of in that moment was the air that combed her hair when they were free. And the bad itch that the innumerable pins in her chignon were producing.


An hour later, the bathroom was abuzz with commotion over a letter allegedly left by the bride. They said she had ran from her own wedding. A few feet from her apologetic note lay the aromatic mogra that adorned her hair.

 This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.