Mirage Of A Murder

Before I begin, I would like to make it very clear that whichever qualities I may possess, imagination is certainly not one of them. Rationalism and practical thinking pervade my life, leaving no space in mind for airy-fairy thoughts, pleasant or otherwise. One of my acquaintances is of the opinion that I could easily fall asleep in a horror movie, though I will not offer my views regarding that particular topic. To my insular outlook, any incident which cannot be explained and/or justified by the general laws of science did not occur at all. Such episodes are merely attention-garnering antics for those poor souls desperate for their five minutes of fame on some equally news starved media channel.

Nonetheless, one particular occurrence considerably rattled me, and forced me to question myself on my adopted stand on what people term as ‘paranormal’ or ‘supernatural’. Once again, I will state before you the bare facts of this singularly outlandish affair, without expressing any of my personal views, since I have none. You are free to judge, form your own theories, even doubt my sanity, and come to the conclusion of your choice. And if there is any feasible interpretation on your part other than branding me a hallucinating lunatic, please do feel free to let me know.

For the time being, plod on. Bizarre it may be, but by no means is it banal.

The Sound Of Music

Left was devastated.

Right was as good as dead. He could have never survived that fall; he was delicate, he was old but at least he had been with Left, standing staunchly with her. He was all she had cared for in their pitch black world...her husband, her support, her soulmate and her only friend. Right's voice had mesmerised her the first time they'd sung the Lionel Richie-Diana Ross duet for their obnoxious master.

Although both of them were blind, she had known that she had been married to the right mate; he sang beautifully, and they made a fantastic couple; a couple oblivious to the delightful sights that the world had to offer, but more than compensating for it with their all-encompassing love for each other, which brightened their days and warmed their hearts, so that they had never even stopped to wonder how it feels to be able to see.

Delhi Underbelly

The thirty minute auto ride from Nehru Place to Tughlaqabad Institutional Area was something that over the previous couple of weeks, I had learned to approach with caution, if not apprehension. In that relatively short period of time, I had rubbed shoulders with prostitutes, eunuchs and hordes of drug addicts drooling on my shoulder, all within the confines of the rickety three wheeled contraption.
The eunuch affair was particularly disturbing or downright hilarious, depending on your school of thought. They had trooped in, six of them, had grinned at me and had started bawling merrily, accompanied by cymbals and an occasional gesture in my direction, asking me to join the party. Maybe they were singing about their castration, but I did not ask. Somehow it didn't seem prudent.