Short Story III

I’ve been with him ever since the catastrophe. People say he’s just a pale shadow of his former self now. I see images of his glorious past adorning the walls of the enclosure I have built for him.

The doctors say he’s losing his mind. Nonsense! They’re all hack-jobs not worth even half their fees. Insane or not, he doesn’t even need to ask me for help – I sense him feeling vulnerable and immediately step-in to protect him. Although he doesn’t say as much in words, I know he’s secretly thanking me.

His fiancé visits him dutifully every day. Though I haven’t formally met her yet, I don’t like her much and have reason to believe that the feeling is mutual. The other day she came around just as I was about to leave. I was inclined to stay, but he told me to give him some privacy. I heard her expressing disapproval of me on the way out though. She says I’m stealing him from her and morphing him into an alien. But I’m just trying to help. I don’t want to see him hurt when she deserts him.

We’re closer than brothers now… almost as if two minds in one body…Shh! He’s coming. I have to go now….

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How did I get here? I must’ve been playing FIFA on the XBOX in my sleep again. I do that a lot now, having lost the ability to do the real thing. My fiancé says it’s not healthy – spending as much time as I do, immured within the safety of my house. But my friend says I’m too frail to venture out.

He’s been a great help the past few months. I’ve grown quite close to him. I don’t know why she hates him so much. Jealousy sounds a bit far-fetched, but stranger things have happened where women are concerned.

Yesterday she was telling me she doesn’t know me anymore. I think she is drifting away from me, now that the glamour and excitement has evaporated. A woman like her can’t keep living like a nurse. She deserves better I guess.

Besides, I have my good friend to take care of me. I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s so confident and assured of himself. I wish I was more like him. I wonder why he sticks with me though. Maybe he needs me as much as I him. I suppose I give him a means to satisfy his magnanimous ego. It’s time to meet him….

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It’s been 5 years since we came to this “institution” for rehabilitation. We don’t talk as often as we used to. He thinks I’m the reason we’re here. As if his life would have been any better without me. I gave him a purpose, a belief that he could survive without needing anyone else. I was there for him when the world was falling apart around him….. When his fiancé left; and this is how he repays me - pushing me out of his life, like one would weed out old clothes.

But I will not go so easily, having invested so much of my life….

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I feel he’s controlling my actions… I wake up in the corridor sometimes and don’t remember getting there. The horror of things he’s made me do sends shivers down my spine. I’m a danger to those around me. I’ve got to end this… the only way of getting rid of him forever… and I think I know how.

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The two men in the picture are two facets of a single person (one which makes him feel small & vulnerable and the other which makes him feel big and arrogant). There should be a harmony between the two in order to achieve goals of one's life.

I have tried to justify this theme through the story of a person suffering from dissociative identity disorder – split personality, due to an accident which caused him to lose his ability to walk and confined him to the seclusion of his house. Both his selves want to claim his body and this disharmony has resulted in him losing his identity, fiancé and freedom.

Short Story II

First things first – lots of readers complained that the previous story was absolutely incomprehensible. So here’s what I had imagined while conceiving it:

The old man is a stalwart of the ruling political party whose leader has just passed away. He wishes the son of the erstwhile supremo to take over the reins of the party and for this wishes to engage the services of the woman who is a kingmaker and has considerable influence over the election machinery. The woman has other plans as she wanted her own pawn to be the next leader and thus coaxes the old man to change her mind. They both glance over the step-daughter, considering her nothing but a nincompoop and in capable for the job as they are not that intimate with her. In the years that pass, the current leader of the nation turns out to be corrupt and is in cohorts with the woman and her allies. They misuse public funds for their own good and this doesn’t go down well with the old man who is a staunch Gandhian. Thus when the minister is impeached, he realises that the step-daughter was in fact prefect for to lead the nation and finally supports her in her campaign.

Now coming to the subject at hand, this is the second story which I submitted and also narrated. Surprisingly, it got selected and now I’m working on the third and final instalment of this series of unrelated stories.

The story is untitled. Apologies to all professionals mentioned in the story and Chartered Accountants for annihilating their job. There are no discernible influences from my personal life.

 

Interpretation of the Picture: Money is only valuable till we agree upon its worth. Barring this trust, it’s just an ornamental alloy or ink on paper. At the height of hyperinflation, Zimbabwe printed a 100 trillion dollar currency note that is now being sold for $5. In this story, I have tried to envision a post-apocalyptic utopia where there is only industry and no finance.

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The year is 2100. It has been 50 years since the Great War that changed everything. People have adopted a much simpler way of living now.

The man was ‘old’ when he was half his present age. Now, he’s just stoking the dying embers of the fire of his life. Having outlived his wife and sons all he now has to offer is the wisdom of his experience. His grandson is coming of age today – the age he starts his vocation. He’s a good kid, a bit impudent though.

What do you want to do now that you have completed your education the Old Man asks him?

Why do I have to do anything, he says. ‘The baker gives us the bread; the builder makes our houses and the tailor stitches our clothes.’

They do those things because they enjoy doing so. Rest is good, but boredom is its brother, the Old Man replies wisely.

But wouldn’t it be better if there were some added incentive to labour, the grandson enquires excitingly.

Knowing that his grandson was not one to be convinced easily, the Old Man decides to tell him the stories of four people he once knew –

In the city of Mumbai lived a woman who worked for a bank. Now banks were institutions which kept something called ‘money’ safe and made it grow. Everyone toiled in pursuit of this money. The more we had, the more we wanted. She wanted to be a scientist – to find out the mysteries of the origins of life. Instead, she was lured by the shimmer of the money. She made lots of it for the bank and more than enough for herself; but was never content. Her fixation with earning more made her lose her family, her friends and finally her sanity.

In the city of NOIDA lived a man who was a consultant. He advised people on how to do their jobs, even though he hadn’t done any of them. By using his intelligence to counsel people on ways to earn more money, he came by considerable amounts of money. Sadly, he could not keep any of his clients satisfied, as they kept coming back to him for more. The stress of his job took its toll upon his health and he was forced into a life of seclusion.

In Hyderabad there lived a woman who made modules that predicted ways to augment the amount of money one had. These modules made many people rich, but she herself was not allowed their use. This frustrated her time and again and finally she decided to purloin from those who used her brilliance for their own profit. Eventually she was found guilty and imprisoned.

In the city of Kolkata lived an engineer who worked unselfishly his entire life so that he could give a comfortable life to his family. He was not exceptional or too intelligent, but he was a very hard and sincere worker. He lived a long, satisfying life and never yearned for more than he needed.

Thus concluding, he asks his grandson whose life he would like to emulate.

“The last man’s” the grandson replies. “But what happened to the concept of money?” he adds as an afterthought.

“It was abolished after the Great War… when our leaders decided that money was the cause of conflict between humans. In the end, what we want is happiness and satisfaction. It was realized that these can be achieved without something as factitious and hollow as money” the Old Man replies.

The grandson acknowledges this with a nod and after a lot of pondering asks his grandfather why he chose those four cities.

The Old Man chuckles and replies “Now that is a story for another time. The next lesson you need to learn is that of patience.”

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P.S.: Any guesses as to why those four cities were chosen???

Short Story - I

HR people have the toughest job nowadays. With the economy bouncing back, attrition rates are expected to rise. Retaining your employees in such a scenario is an arduous task. Recently, my employers have organised a story-writing competition targeted towards this objective.

This is a short story that I submitted based on the picture theme. Only three people outside my organisation have read it and their response was that it is too esoteric. Surprisingly, it got selected and now I have to submit another story which is also to be narrated.

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Theme: I interpreted the theme as the flame which is the closest blinds us to those which burn equally (if not more) brightly but are farther. I have tried to relate this perceptive phenomenon to the cerebral one. In our quotidian exchanges, we tend to overlook the brilliance of those who aren’t close to us in favour of familiar faces. Although such indulgences are fine and dandy in our personal life, it is imperative that as a professional we are objective, delimited and inclusive.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The Road Not Taken

“There comes a time in the life of every nation when it stands at the cross-roads of history and must choose which way to go” – Lal Bahadur Shastri

27 December, 2010. 12:45 p.m.

“We picked wrong” said the guttural voice over the phone.

“The other one wouldn’t have listened to us” the woman replied.

“Bah! Admit it. You’re out of your depth.”

“I’ll prevail as always.”

“I’ve been asked to testify against you and I intend to. Unless you have something for me….”

“You’ve always made me laugh. Testify if you want to. But remember, if I’m acquitted, you’d be hearing from me.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No, it’s a caution” she answered menacingly.

“How did we end up in this mess….” he wondered.

19 January, 2006. 2:00 a.m.

The occupant of the sedan was as nondescript as his ride. Having seen a multitude of movies where chauffeurs turned against their employees, he preferred to drive himself. The woman whose services he wished to engage came highly recommended in matters of such urgency.

A lesser man might have been intimidated by her mansion, but he was unimpressed. Such garish display of wealth was for the benefit of corporate big shots. Politics, he liked to believe, was a subtler process where patience held as much water as acumen.

An elderly butler showed him to the office, where seated behind a grand mahogany desk, was the woman who would determine the future of the nation. Though not beautiful, she had a magnetic personality that could have persuaded Bhishma to break his vow. From her expression, it seemed his visit was expected.

“Who?”

The abruptness of the enquiry took him aback.

After recollecting his thoughts, he replied “The son.”

“No” she snapped irreverently.

“He has the sympathy of the electorate.”

“He reads Nietzsche and quotes Beckett.”

“So?”

“He’s a philosopher, not a politician. Do you really want a leader who believes God is dead and thinks there is nothing to do but wait for the end?”

“Who then?”

“The Foreign Minister”

“He’s hardly been in the country since taking oath. I don’t trust him.”

“He’ll do our bidding. That’s all you care for.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“It’s my job.”

“What about the step-daughter?”

“She’s an imbecile sycophant. Besides I have other plans for her.”

“What?”

“We pitch her against the minister. Dynastic politics are passé. The family is divided over her. The people would think of her as a sympathy piranha. She will lose and our guy will be in office, empowered with the trust of the voters.”

“Who’d convince her to run?”

She flashed him knowing smile and he immediately regretted asking.

7 July, 2009. 4:00 p.m.

“He’s gone rogue. Abusing the power of his office! I’ll not have it.”

“Don’t worry. He’ll not step outside the law. I have him under control.”

“The funds belong to the country, not you or him. Stop him while you can.”

“You are as much a part of this as I!”

“And not a day goes by that I regret it.”

4 May, 2011. 10:00 a.m.

“It’s over. He’s been impeached. I’m putting her in office.”

“The people would never support your dynastic….” she started coldly.

“This has nothing to do with dynasties or my methods. She’s perfect. You’ve always known that. She won’t bend to anyone’s will and govern with an iron-fist.” he said, cutting her off.

“She’ll be hearing about our deal.”

“She already knows. I have her forgiveness. You should pray for it.”

“You double-crossing old fool. How dare you?!!!”

“Don’t be melodramatic. This is MY job.”