A Sweet Sacrifice

I suppose my very first actual attempt at fiction. Re-reading it, it sounds awful to me. But I do consider it my very first.
____

Rahel sat behind his desk, sneaking glances at her. Her vibrant smile and shrill laughter made his heart flutter. He did not speak to her often, for he didn't have the courage to. He did, however, like her very much. Whenever he did gather the courage to initiate conversation, she was always cordial and polite but the words exchanged would be few. If she ever spoke to him, his knees would shake and occasionally, he would stutter.

Misha had always been popular. She wasn't very pretty but she was only 13 and beauty would grow on her in time. Rahel wasn't the only one who knew that. Many boys felt a passion for her. So far, only one had acted on it.

Vivek belonged to a wealthy family. There could be no other explanation to his handsome allowance. He was frequently at the canteen, a privilege few could afford at that age, and was often seen treating Misha, consequently buying time with her.

Rahel could not afford such frivolities on his allowance. He came from a modest household and was prudent with his expenditures. In his heart, he disliked Vivek, but not too much for he was not one to hold grudges.

The next day was 'Chocolate Day'. Some of the girls had been talking eagerly about it. Rahel had not heard of it before. Seemingly, people exchanged chocolates on that day as a gesture. A gesture of what? He did not know. Possibly affection. Probably friendship.

The thought made his mind wander. Soon, he found himself torn between his mind and his heart. H heart won.

That evening, he crept out of his house and walked to the nearest store. He felt his heart beatng loudly but did not know why. His every step was burdened with apprehension.

In the store, he glanced inside his wallet. A twenty rupee note was all that it had. It was a lot at that time for a person his age. He figured that if he bought a chocolate for less than fifteen, he'd have at least five rupees to himself.

He peered into the glass box with the chocolates on display. "How much?" he asked the shopkeeper, pointing at one that seemed neither too large, nor too small. Just right. "Twenty" was the response.

His heart fell. He contemplated. Then Misha came to his mind. He bought it. As he walked back, though the apprehension had not left him, he was filled with anticipation for the day to come.

The next day saw the tittering girls exchanging chocolates between themselves, though mostly candy. Rahel felt happy with the bar of chocolate in his pocket. He waited till he felt the moment was right. Soon, he knew the moment wouldn't come. After much deliberation, he rose and walked towards Misha. As always, his legs were weak and unsteady.

She sat behind her desk, munching at her candy while she gossiped with her friend.
He drew up to her. "Misha...." he called, in almost a whisper. She paused and turned around to face him. He reached into his pocket. As his fingers closed around the bar, Vivek appeared from behind.
"Happy Chocolate Day, Misha," he exclaimed while placing a box of Ferrero Rochers, an imported brand of expensive chocolate, in her hands.
"Oh my god!" cried Misha. "Thank you so much Vivek! I love these!" Her face was filled with delight as she beheld the treasure. "Oh Vivek, you spoil me! This is so unexpected!"
Suddenly aware of Rahel's presence amidst them, she turned to him, still smiling, "You called me, Rahel?"
"Oh no, it was nothing really," whispered Rahel, mostly to himself.
Misha looked at him, her smile giving way to slight bewilderment, as he stepped back and walked away.

Barber Blooper

Howdy all! It has jolly well been a long time, hasn't it! I do not wish to abandon you all, thus I return.
To be able to return, one needs to have something to write about.. an anecdote or a limerick.
Poor memory, an uneventful life or the sheer lack of desire comprise some of the obstacles that deny us a story to share. There are those who write as an obligation. Then again, some of us refuse to compromise on our dignity by harping on endlessly about food.
Well, today I return for I have something to say.
Did you know that New York is not the capital of the United States? Err.. no, that's not it. I digress.

A yes, Barber Blooper.
Every time we blog, we attempt to title the post with the intention of summarising the entire narration in a few words. Then again, there are those who title an entry "My Trip To Alabama" and deliberate on the Indian Independence Struggle. But as you must've guessed, I do not belong to that category of persons.

So back to Barber Bloopers.
The event occurred at.... well, the barber's. On the scene were 3 boys, say Boy 1, Boy 2 and Boy Me as well as a girl, say Girl. Here, it may be noted that Girl was (is) a scamp.
Boy 1 needed a shave. Boy 2, Boy Me and Girl, you'd be interested to know, did not. Nonetheless, they accompanied to the barber as it conveniently fell on their way home and as it is sometimes expected of people the grounds of friendship.

Thus, we entered 'Super Hairdresser', which I'd suppose to be Manipal's most frequented Men's Saloon.
The layout of the saloon is as shown.


Door 1 would be the Main Door and the remaining 3 lead to 3 enclosures where one finds a lot of hair flying around.

As we entered through Door 1, Boy 1 promptly disappeared behind Door 3 into the A/C Enclosure of the parlour. As the glass walls were tinted, we could not observe what ensued behind them. As he has gone for over a quarter of an hour, rather excessive for a simple shave, we were puzzled as to what could beget the delay, tempting us to arrive at our own wicked conclusions. That he emerged with the top 2 buttons of his shirt undone only aggravated our curiosity. That they were undone even before he had disappeared behind the door was his saving grace.

During the wait, we sat on the benches adjacent to Door 1, looking disinterested in the general administration of the saloon. Time and again, an employee would appear from one of the three doors (2,3 or 4) and ask Boy 2 and Boy Me if we desired their services, since we were utilising the bench space, the oxygen within the room and the wind from their fan, particularly ear-marked for waiting customers. The girl was never questioned as it was a men's saloon. Owing to this discrimination, she was slightly offended and would occasionally requesting a shave. For some obnoxious and unfathomable reason, none of the barbers took her seriously.

Eventually, we tired of sitting and Boy Me rose, pulled Girl through Door 2 where a rather timid-looking bloke, whom I shall call Bloke, stood by a chair, gazing at the door. Boy Me pushed Girl towards him and convincingly proclaimed that Girl wanted a shave. A short explosion of laughter emerged from Girl, which she subsequently stifled, pulled a straight face and corroborated that she indeed wanted one that very moment. Bloke smiled from ear to ear and looked embarrassed, but refused to play along with us.
Just then, a barber walked around us from behind, picked up a hand-towel and started drying Bloke's face. Bloke walked past us to the cash counter to pay.
Meanwhile, Boy Me and Girl realised their blunder and burst out of Door 1, bursting with hysterical laughter that they were unable to control.
Bloke too emerged from the door, still smiling in embarrassment and blushing a crimson red.

Today's weather forecast

Unacceptable! Absolutely unacceptable!

The climate of this town is utterly profane. Who, when, where and how authorised the mercury to soar to such extent and the humidity to haunt the life out of us? How can such terrible weather be permitted?

Call the police, summon the Union Government, appeal to the Supreme Court. There has been a serious violation of Human Rights! An entire civilisation is under threat! If that wasn’t horrid enough, I too am part of it!

Why is this grave act of torture upon innocent masses being overlooked? Why aren’t the media reporting the agony that we are being subjected to? Why has the parliament not convened to discuss measures of control? Why has this climate not been condemned by diplomats from the world over? If we debate abolition of institutions such as capital punishment that only plague individuals on moral grounds, is it not imperative to advocate a ban on weather conditions such as these? It is nothing short of top priority. Then WHY are the concerned authorities not taking initiatives?

To make it worse, clouds mock us all day. They think it is all very amusing to hang there in the sky, look grey and promising and then just leave.

What are clouds made of, I ask you? What is their most fundamental composition? What is it you say? Water, is it? Well, why don’t we see any of it?

Can one ever consume butter that wouldn’t make his cholesterol rise? Have you ever purchased an umbrella that drenches you?

Then how can clouds contain water and feign dryness? The very thought of it is preposterous. And lo behold, I am told that nothing can be done about it.

Why would anyone say such a horrid thing? Why would anyone steal from another person an inkling of hope, a drop of desire and a pinch of motivation to fight the injustices that exist around him?

Did the people of Geneva step back and watch as Hitler took over their nation and spread the wings of his autocratic strategies over the rest of the world? Did America sit silent as France attempted to steal from it the Statue of Liberty? Did Jesus’s apostles not file an FIR when the Hindus stole the Bhagvat Gita right from under them? (Kindly avoid correcting any awry contentions. I’m positively peeved.)

Then why oh why do we sit back as the climatic conditions jeer at us?

Outright blasphemy.

Dearth of posts on this web log are adequately compensated here....

Dream

Percy Bysshe "A dream has a power to poison sleep."

I differ. "A dream poisons sleep."

The day concludes. We return home after physical, mental and emotional exhaustion. We yearn for rejuvenation of our faculties to face another day. We yearn for replenishment of our senses, for a few hours of mental solace. We yearn for sleep.

We shut our eyes. Events of the day that has elapsed plague our minds. We push them away. They persist. We seek aid to squeeze them out of our minds. A child seeks a lullaby, an adult seeks a song.

Slowly, we begin to drift. Our physical senses lose control, but don't leave us. The mind detaches itself from them, but only almost.

We drift into an Other world. A world not very different from the one in which we lay 'asleep', yet different. Everything here is out-of-place, or rather in a different place. We may not be ourselves. At least, not in every way.

In our dreams, too, we face challenges. We are faced with many tasks to be accomplished. Yet, we cannot pursue them. Yet, the mind has no control over our physical senses. It must observe. In moments of intensity, it tries hard to hint the other self that contols our being, but cannot power over it.

Often, we are seeking for something that we may or may not be able to find. If found, it doesn't vaguely resemble what we had sought all along.

There is no reason, no logic, no pattern.... but a vague connection with our past or person. Nothing can be questioned. Everything must be endured.

We follow our other self as he journeys through a world we've never seen in person before yet is we treat it as familiar.

Nothing makes sense. Nothing fits. Yet we attempt to decipher it all. Our effort is futile for its fruit is soon forgotten by even our own self. Yet the effort is made.

Hours go by in what seems like seconds. Time stands still in the Other world.

The Other world begins to fade. From the darkness, emerges our own in which mind controls the body.

Another day.

The mind is fatigued. Yet, we must rise. Our senses protest but there is no one to listen. Another day has begun and we must rise.

When that day has ended, there is no solace. We must return to the Other world, which is scarcely constant.

This cycle is vicious. The mind is helpless. It protests, but no one listens.