The Scream - Short Story

It happened some time during the night. A shrill, piercing scream let itself loose with a vengeance, lasting for several seconds. At 11:30pm, to be exact.

No one who heard that scream could sleep for several hours, such was its horror. People tumbled out of their houses with worried faces and with that faint thrill the human mind associates with a mystery. It was a gated community - secluded, safe, and boring. The monotony of their lives was such that the poor things craved some excitement, and this scream held plenty of promise. No one could scream like that without something unspeakable having happened.

"Mrs. Dunlop, did you hear that? !" That was Ms. Sheila Bishop, the kindly spinster from across the street.

"Yes, it was awful! I wonder which house it came from? " Mrs. Dunlop lived with her septuagenarian sister and at that moment could kill for some excellent gossip-worthy incident.
" It came from the Jennings's place. I hope nothing's happened!"
"I hope so, too!" Mrs. Dunlop's face showed that she hoped for the exact opposite.

People had started gathering in twos and threes around the Jennings' place, no one mustering the courage to knock. Greg, the Jennings' teenage neighbour, stepped forward bravely. He pressed the buzzer for several seconds without success and then looked uncertain about what to do. Someone called out, "Call Lisa or Jerry on their phone! They can't still be asleep, we are all pretty sure that was their little kid screaming. "

When the phones did not yield any success the police was promptly called onto the scene. They arrived quickly, tried ringing the bell again to be sure, and broke open the door. The entire neighbourhood waited outside breathlessly while the police went inside, guns drawn. It was somewhat of an anti-climax when after a few minutes they came out of the house proclaiming no one was inside.

The entire house was thoroughly searched, they said - no one was in. Maybe the people misheard? The people were adamant. They were positive that the scream came from that house.

"Moreover, the house was padlocked from the inside; how could you explain an empty house that was locked from the inside? ", was the standard dialogue on everyone's lips. The police promised to look into the matter. The house was sealed, and a policeman put on guard there.

The people talked about it and exchanged theories as to what might've happened until they finally called it a day and went back to their homes to sleep in peace. That peace was short-lived.

It happened some time during the night. A shrill, piercing scream let itself loose with a vengeance, lasting for several seconds. At 11:30pm, to be exact. People rushed outside, some of them still sleepy-eyed. Ms. Sheila Bishop was the first on the street.

"The scream came from Mrs. Dunlop's house this time. . . " Her voice was shaky.

People knocked on the door. They instinctively knew there would be no answer.

Everyone stared wildly at each other, terrified about what was going on. The question running in everyone's minds was,

Who is next?

The Caffeinated Joys of Filter Coffee

Growing up in a Telugu household, this is only predictable. One develops a deep rooted love for filter coffee. One tends to get irritated if the early morning shout of, "Amma, coffee!" is not complied with alacrity. One might even say, one is addicted to it.

I got hooked on to coffee at a tender age of I-don't-remember-when. That occasional drop of decoction in my daily glass of milk was a reward - a reward for being a good kid, or perhaps for having completed the necessary homework without too much prodding. I don't recall the exact day when my big glass of milk laced with decoction was substituted for a steaming glass of filter coffee. I can only imagine it must've been a big deal for me. Almost like an acceptance into adult society, that one.

Pictured: Little glasses of heaven.

Tea for me was always the poor country cousin - only drunk under extreme circumstances (meaning, when coffee isn't available).

College was hard. I was in the heart of Orissa, no relatives for miles on end, and the few hotels that served coffee had only the Instant kind. Yuck. FYI, Instant Coffee isn't coffee. Just another hot beverage. After four years of making disgruntled faces at the chai-wallahs, my luck made this abrupt U-turn, kind of like what the auto-wallahs do when they see a potential customer.

I came to Hyderabad.

Life did a full circle when I camped at the same aunt's place with whom I grew up, and - surprise, surprise! - her entire family were coffee people, just like yours truly. Ah, those magical stainless steel filters, they should be a part of Hogwarts studies! Another stint of coffee drinking followed, which went unhampered for several years. I got completely hooked onto it - I woke up to the smell of coffee everyday; and when I came back from office a steaming glass of the magical brew would be waiting for me.

Fast forward to the present day - married to this great guy who loves black coffee, and what's more, even makes it for me every morning. I know, I know, black coffee is filter coffee too, and what if he makes it with brown sugar? Isn't it kinda like Irish Coffee, with just the cream and whiskey missing? I could live with that!

But that little imp in the back of my head nags at me, "Itsss not the same, preciousss!"

I've found a workaround though - weekdays are dedicated to my husband's recipe; and I make my beloved filter coffee on weekends. On the days when I visit my aunt, she looks at me with an unspoken understanding, and makes sure that I am plied with all the filter coffee I want. Hell, the tummy can take care of itself later.

What is Fascism?

Perhaps this picture explains it best.

I was reading an article about the Nazis and the Second World War, etc., when this word Fascism leaped out at me. Everyday I come across many words that I do not understand, but I work out some kind of meaning based on the sentence, get some context, and move on. Some times I check in on a Thesaurus to know that word better. Today, I wanted to learn what Fascism means. And perhaps use it in conversations to impress the other mortals. So I Googled it. And since Wikipedia is the mother of all encyclopedias I clicked on that first.

So, what is Fascism? Let's see what these sites have to say.

Wikipedia:

"Fascism is a radical authoritarian nationalist political ideology. Fascists seek rejuvenation of their nation based on commitment to an organic national community where its individuals are united together as one people in national identity by suprapersonal connections of ancestry, culture, and blood through a totalitarian single-party state that seeks the mass mobilization of a nation through discipline, indoctrination, physical education, and eugenics."

Really, Wiki? This is the definition you give to a person with little or no knowledge of this word?!

Lower your voice, you!

Urban Dictionary:

Fascism: The Bush administration 

I loved this one! :P

Dictionary.com:

A governmental system led by a dictator having complete power, forcibly suppressing opposition and criticism, regimenting all industry, commerce, etc., and emphasizing an aggressive nationalism and often racism.

Okay, quite easy to understand.

Merriam-Webster Dictionary:

A political philosophy, movement, or regime (as that of the Fascisti) that exalts nation and often race above the individual and that stands for a centralized autocratic government headed by a dictatorial leader, severe economic and social regimentation, and forcible suppression of opposition.

Hmm.

I should now confess I already used Fascism in a conversation today. With a straight face.

Daruvu - Movie Review

I was fortunate enough to watch this insanely awesome movie this weekend.

Move over Bala Krishna, you with your almost impossible fight sequences, laughably silly dialogues, and improbably young heroines! Ravi Teja is here to make you quiver in your shoes and give you a run for your money.

So, we have Bullet Raja (played by Ravi Teja) who falls in love with a girl, Swetha (played by Taapsee). She is a dancer, and is learning her dance moves from her Guru, Vidya Balan. No, not Vidya Balan the actress, it is our very own king-of-comedy Brahmanandam. His name is Vidya Balan, and his male assistant is named Neetha Menon. Duh, not funny! Alright, it is a little bit.

Just look at those buffoons!

Long story short, Swetha cares tuppence about our Bullet Raja and loathes the very sight of him. One fine day - just about a week after he knows her, that is - they go to a club and some guy tries to manhandle Swetha. Bullet Raja leaps to the rescue and - we did not see this coming - Swetha falls for him immediately.

Where there's a hero there is a villian, and for Telugu heroes one villian is simply not enough, they get insulted and refuse to sign. The first villian of this lovely movie is this goonda who wants to marry Swetha (why, is a mystery to me). He descends on the hero with some hundred sidekicks, who turn to dust in Bullet Raja's hands. Finally, some serious shit happens and our hero falls off a cliff, and as if that wasn't enough this bigass SUV falls on him and explodes. The writers were adamant that even Rajnikanth couldn't survive this kind of shit and so the director reluctantly kills Bullet Raja off.

End of story.

Ha-ha, you wish! Bullet Raja goes straight to hell, where after a series of stupid scenes involving Lord Yama's son and Mr. Chitragupta he is sent back to earth into the Home Minister's body. Who also happens to be - surprise, surprise! - Ravi Teja. Now the second, third, and fourth villians make their entry and we are treated to a series of cringe-worthy incidents where they try to kill Ravindra (Bullet Raja's soul, Home Minister's body) and fail horribly.

For the epic final scene, all the four villians get together and plant a bomb under the stage where the CM, HM, and other big guns are giving speeches. The time bomb ticks closer to exploding and killing the hero a second time, when the Home Minister gives a moving speech and what the fck! All villians have a change of heart and become good citizens. They even run to the stage and warn everyone about the bomb and everything. Ravindra (formerly Bullet Raja) leaps off the stage, but not before clutching a small kid and saving him. Because you know, he is such a noble man.

The. End. Whew.

This was when the end credits started rolling, and my brother yelled loudly demanding a refund.

I've read a couple of reviews on the internet, and I have to say I was surprised to see them praise it. I know, Ravi Teja has got impeccable comic timing, but jesus! I am so sick of seeing the same comedy over and over and over again! He seriously needs to try something different. Then the whole shebang of Yamalok is also something we've seen countless times before - and nicely done, as well. In this movie it was plain creepy. God knows what Taapsee was doing in this movie - she seemed to be there just for the occasional navel glimpse and song sequences. She dances well, but looks yuck.

The only highlight of the movie was that "Dhinkachika" devotion move by fake Swami Pavitrananda, played superbly by actor Raghu Babu. That guy never fails to impress.

Bottom line, Daruvu has some laughs, but the sheer absurdness of the movie will leave you wincing. Watch it if you absolutely must; or wait for the DVD.

Dear Jane - Short Story

Lady Luck had taken an instant dislike to Jane from the moment she was born.

A series of complications ensured she plopped out of her mum prematurely, resulting in being trapped in the incubator for a good couple of months. Then followed a series of incidents that can only be put down to pure bad luck. A sleepy nurse had handed her to the wrong parents; as a result, she had grown up with an alcoholic father and a bulimic mother.

Jane was almost always picked last in school for games owing to her small frame, was a wallflower when it came to parties, and being underdeveloped at seventeen ensured she still hadn’t gotten her first kiss yet.

Jane ran away from home at nineteen, hooked up a ride with a some hippies and, when their truck was stopped by a policeman for speeding, was promptly arrested along with the group for drugs and whatnot. Lady Luck perhaps decided to throw the poor kid a bone here, since the policemen who took the hippies in gave Jane a once over, checked her belongings, and told her to get the hell out of there before they changed their collective minds.

The first town she chose had a sleepy little population of 400 people.

Prosecutors would later argue that the murders started exactly two days after she entered town.

Jane just smiled.

Tsongmo Lake: Sikkim Diaries

Having visited Gurudongmar Lake at 17100 feet, anyone would think Lake Tsongmo would be a piece of cake. At least, we did. And we were wrong.

Road to Tsongmo Lake. Piece of cake.

Tsongmo Lake is around 40 kms from Gangtok, and stands at a proud 12,400 feet above sea level. The road is treacherous, and that is if you can call that a road at all. Frequent mudslides in recent times have caused the road to be really bumpy, and if it rains even slightly, it gets muddier than a mud hill.

That said, almost all drivers there are experts at navigating this road; they know each nook and cranny, and they know each bump and turn. So fear not if you are not able to view the road because a huge cloud decided to make its presence known just then - the driver will just race into and past the cloud without blinking an eyelid.

Anyway, finally, we were there, we had our rubber boots on, and we were making the tricky little climb up the slope from the parking lot to the lake when, suddenly, our nostrils were assaulted with a strong, overwhelming smell of poop.

"I just pooped all over this place. Hope that's okay."

The next minute we were face to face with the yaks. The yaks are there duly earning their daily bread and studiously pooping it all back. For a few hundred rupees you can have a yak carry you around the lake and get you back to where you started. Unless you're a raging lazybones who is simply not bothered to make the 1km walk, I wouldn't recommend riding the yak - firstly, you won't be able to enjoy the view of the lake because you're holding on tightly to the yak and trying not to fall; secondly, the yak smells so bad that you frankly can't wait to get the ride over with.

Pictured: Heaven.

We stepped gingerly onto the snow; the first few yards the snow was completely brown in color, and by this point I am sure you know the reason why. I was reminded of Calvin somehow - maybe because brown snow is just the kind of thing he loves.

Slowly, slowly, as we made our way up towards the lake we could see the pristine landscape taking shape.Oh, it is beautiful! The stark black and white landscape, coupled with the crowd in their colorful sweaters screaming with excitement made for a really pretty setting.We spent a lot of time throwing snowballs at each other, sliding in the snow, and basically acting like children.

Everyone had this huge patch of wet on the back of their pants - the result of trying to slide down. Aw hell, we didn't mind! The only thing we minded were our wet gloves which we heedlessly used to make our snowballs - they didn't dry for several hours.

After a couple of hours of crazy time we came back, returned the rubber boots, and sat down for some yummy wai wai noodles. It was the perfect end to a perfect day.

No wait, we then went to the Institute of Tibetology, and were looking at books at their in-house store when the lady in charge told us there was a huge snake loitering inside somewhere, and would we please keep an eye on our legs from time to time. But that's another story for another day.

Pig hooey!

Is George Orwell's Animal Farm coming true or what!

Pigs are apparently causing havoc in a Chennai neighborhood - they've chosen a cozy vacant lot that belongs to the government (ha!) and started breeding like rabbits. Right now their number is about 50-odd, and they come out in a herd during the evenings and terrorize the residents. 50 pigs running around in the street, oinking all over the place... yes, reason enough to run for cover.

The town I grew up in boasted of many stray pigs strolling around like they owned the place, but never has anyone been afraid of them! These mutant monster pigs have reached a point where they're attacking stray dogs (!) and biting golfers, and the question we need to ask ourselves is, what next? Chickens flying around pooping on our heads?! :-|

What the hell is happening?!

The Long Dark Tea-Time of The Soul - Douglas Adams

(Might contain some spoilers)

The Story

Strange things are happening in London. Police are baffled by a mysterious death - a man is found dead in a room, all doors and windows securely locked from the inside. The police would gladly term it as suicide; only, the man's neatly severed head is sitting a few feet away.

 Around the same time, an explosion at a check-in counter of Heathrow airport has the authorities puzzled - no one has gotten seriously hurt, and there are no explosives to be found at the place that would actually explain how the explosion happened.

Dirk Gently, holistic detective and lazy bum, decides to look into the matter.

Just so you understand what kind of detective you're dealing with here, let us get to know Mr. Gently better, shall we? It has been a full 3 months since Dirk has opened his fridge, and, afraid of what unspeakable things might be taking life inside, he opts to throw it out and buy a new fridge instead. If Dirk Gently's in his car heading someplace and needs to ask for directions, he doesn't. No sir. He just chooses a car that looks like it knows where it's going and follows it.

So, anyway, Dirk Gently starts his investigation and runs into Kate Schechter.

Kate Schechter has gotten herself involved in the matter purely by an unfortunate coincidence. She is waiting at the check-in counter for her Oslo flight, minding her own business, when she notices the man before her is being impossibly obtuse. First, he doesn't have a ticket; when the check-in girl asks him to buy a ticket, he doesn't have the cash; he opts to pay by cheque instead, and gets deeply roused when the check-in girl tells him they don't accept cheques.

On the verge of missing her flight, and exasperated beyond endurance, Kate offers to pay for his ticket, and will he please write the cheque over to her –

"My name is Kate Schechter. Two 'c's, two 'h's, two 'e's, and also a 't', an 'r', and an 's'. Provided they're all there the bank won't be fussy about the order they come in, they never seem to know themselves."

 At this point he thoughtfully replies he doesn't have a cheque book. Kate pays nevertheless, but the last straw is when the girl asks for his passport and he slowly replies he doesn't have that one, either.
Kate walks away then leaving the man and the check-in girl to argue in peace, and moments later the explosion happens. The obtuse guy happens to be none other than Thor, the God of thunder and a lot of other things, as he introduces himself to Kate at a later stage (unfortunately for him, when she’s in a foul mood) –

"I am Thor. I am the God of Thunder. The God of Rain. The God of the High Towering Clouds. The God of Lightning. The God of the Flowing Currents. The God of the Particles. The God of the Shaping and the Binding Forces. The God of the Wind. The God of the Growing Crops. The God of the Hammer Mjollnir."

"Are you?" simmered Kate.

The plot also includes Odin, Thor's dad, Toe Rag, Odin's weasly side-kick not unlike Gollum of LOTR fame, a green monster, and a couple of others who are unimportant, so I've forgotten their names.

You've got to read the book to uncover the mystery of the death, the explosion, and other things - it wouldn't be fun if I wrote everything here.

My Take

Douglas Adams had already wowed me with The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, so when my husband suggested reading The long Dark Tea-Time of The Soul, I didn't need to think twice. Since Douglas Adams had already achieved perfection with The Hitchhiker's Guide, I consciously had somewhat low expectations from this one. I was pleasantly surprised - he dealt with the serious topics of death and explosions and father-son relationship strain with due respect, and he had me in splits at the same time.

Some parts of the book are particularly funny. At one point along the way, Dirk picks up a newspaper and turns to the horoscope page, and reads his horoscope for the day -

"You are very fat and stupid and persistently wear a ridiculous hat which you should be ashamed of."

The horoscope for that paper is written by The Great Zaganza, an old friend of Dirk’s who knows his birthday :P

Whatever his plot might be, Douglas Adams manages to infuse a hilarious riot of humor into all his lines. The only complaint I have with this book is, he ended it much too abruptly. He could easily have gone on for another 50 pages or so without boring anybody, but he chose instead to end it with an abruptness that must’ve surprised him as well.

If you found the plot and the story gripping, go ahead and read the book. If you haven't - well, read it anyway because it is so awesome :D