time to change

She sat there sweating profusely, her temper matching the heat outside. Would this too turn out to be a failed attempt? The pressure from the officials had been mounting. New mouths to feed arrived at a steady pace every month, eating into her share of the allocated funds. Being the head of the orphanage was not a lucrative business any more. She was tired of pandering to the egos of higher ups and soliciting new clients for her husband's floundering real estate business at the same time. The dingy room saw less and less of her as days passed by.


 Rama Shankar* pushed his way through the wooden saloon doors, he didn't bother to knock. 
 If she hadn't been preoccupied, would have noticed the smug look that permeated his features these days. "The Pandeys called, Madamji."
"Again? Bringing her...Munni back?" Desperation reducing her voice to a hoarse croak.
"Who tells this poor man anything?" His voice always reminded her of grease scrapped from a steel plate.
 Must want to wash their hands off her. These religious, middle class ones are all the same, just empty talk. "What did you tell them?"
 "The usual, busy with inspection work." He seemed pleased with his lies. His eyes had a hazy quality to them. Had he been...? "How many times have I told you to stay off bhang during working hours?
"Do you want to lose this job too?"
With watering eyes, he quickly prostrated before her, "Have mercy on me, family man, my kids will starve to death." adding, "These kids are like my children, they need me."


He managed to convince her every time; she needed him to cover up her absence. She was about to give him another last warning when the noise outside distracted her. There was a flurry of running feet followed by steadier ones. Snippets of conversation in loud and soft voices could be heard. The rushing feet stopped at her door. Utter silence. The door swung wildly as burly policemen swooped into her space. 
 Two scared looking attendants along with a dozen children of different ages waited just outside the threshold. The Pandeys and a few other parents stood next to an important looking official. The collector and here? 
Munni? Why does she have a glum face?  Looking at the cowering ten year old who stood between her adoptive parents, a familiar sense of something amiss hit her. Something had happened, she was the one scared now. Putting on a brave face, hiding the tremor in her tone and turning to Baldev Singh, the inspector she recognised, "What is the meaning of this, Baldevji?"


Baldev turned to the collector who gave him an impatient nod.  He looked at her sadly. She was a decent woman and yet it had to be done. "Arrest warrants for you and this man here." pointing to the peon who was staring at Munni with a dazed look. 
"Arrest Warrant?" she repeated, bewildered.
"For the rape of Munni and four other minor girls adopted from the orphanage. There are also charges by some of the attendants," looking towards the door, "of being molested." 
"There must some mistake, surely, I would be aware of such happenings." 


"If you had been around and had bothered to notice the obvious signs." Pandeyji spoke for the first time. "We found blood stains on our daughter's clothes. She would't eat properly, woke up screaming every night, woudn't even let my brother hug her.
"One of my neighbours who is a child specialist felt that she had undergone recent trauma. A physical examination by an expert left us with no doubt. My daughter found the courage to tell us everything that happened to her here. So did the other girls." affectionately patting his daughter on her head. "Can we go home, daddy?" Munni asked softly.
"Come on, Baldev, take them into custody. We have to move the remaining children to a safer place, we haven't all day." The collector shook hands with the team and the parents before walking towards the other children.

lost dreams

Decadent thoughts blight

the once beautiful

Life's rewards for 

 the faithful's watch.

Floating on dark, gloomy

 waters of humanity

A constant struggle 

against the inevitable sinking.

Pressures, now stilled

rechanneled to naively targets

This bloated carnival

awaits the recycling order.

The Morning After

The blare of the horn sounded repeatedly, every fresh one making his ears ache. He heard voices; the nightmare has ceased he found himself muttering. The stings of cold water all over followed a rough jostle of the arms. He opened his left eye, the glare of the sun momentarily blinding him. A frowning face stared back, and yet the tiny pair of eyes sparkled with unmistakable humour as they travelled over his body. A high pitched chatter to his left and a wave of pain coursed through his head.

His thoughts were dimly focusing on the something poking into his back, rather his skin. He sat up straight scaring the old lady who almost fell on her back. “Sorry, ma’am” the apology came naturally. What puzzled him were the hoots of laughter from the pavement. Pavement? What was he doing there? Looking down at himself, he wished he had never woken up.

The hoots grew louder until the old lady raised her palm. She was questioning him pointing to the other comatose body. Eddie! He found himself smiling. The tall, lanky boy looked downright silly in his boxers and socks. They hadn’t even spared them their shoes. Was that dried blood on his face? “No Chinese, someone around speak English?” The lady turned to a girl, pointing out to the adjacent door. In the ensuing silence, he tried to recollect the events of last night. They had had a light dinner, a few drinks when their new found friend had suggested hitting some of the moderate hotspots along Clarke Quay. The waitresses at Hooter had been a welcome sight. But man, expensive for a student like me. The food was different. Eddie was devouring it like no tomorrow, that yankee. Next stop had been some nightclub, nice spot, and those girls with that weird, coloured hair. Wigs. Come to think of it, they seemed less like girls and more like…

“Hello.” the accent hadn’t lost its British touch. He felt better despite the loss of his I.D and wallet, even his I phone.

“Nice pickle you’re in. Indian?”

“No, British-Pakistani” he bristled.

“That attitude isn’t going to help you. You guys look the same.” As an afterthought, “Maybe, I should let the local police handle this. No one here wants trouble.”

Abbas’s blood ran cold. Police meant questioning, calls to his relatives, the embassy, embarrassment even jailed for lack of papers …His elder brother would kill him if his uncle did not. How would he explain his drinking and hangouts?

“I apologise, wasn’t thinking straight. Please help us. We are good boys, international exchange students at the SMU.”

“Better get in unless you want to get toasted.”

He felt like punching the white guy’s face at his insolence but needed him for now. In what he hoped was a meek voice, he asked, “What about my friend?”

“Get him inside or leave him here, not my concern.”

 Abbas looked around. The crowd seemed to be drifting off. The old lady smiled at him kindly. He nodded, put his hands under Eddie’s shoulders, and dragged him along carefully. A couple of teens came to his aid. The three of them managed to pull his friend over the threshold of what seemed a reception area of a home office. They lay him across the nearest chair. Abbas turned to thank the boys. He had nothing to give them except words. They ran away laughing, no doubt eager to share the tale amongst their friends.

“Here, put these on.” handing over a set of clothes too long for his 5’8’’ frame. It was better than being half naked around that pretty looking girl from earlier who lingered around. Must work here, jumping in the pants in haste.

“What’s the deal? “

The deal. Going home with a believable story or tracking down the orange haired muggers. One night out and disaster struck, small mercy he had forgotten his passport in the dorm.

660 cwc   need to make it 713

My part of the tale

Silencing the beeper, Stewart stood undecided, his current state of mind not ideal for any form of surgery and he knew it.

The bodies had disappeared… Damn these visions! 

 He took a valium to calm his nerves. He needed to get his act together, retain some semblance of normalcy. Else the repercussions could prove fatal. He could not allow anyone to visit home till he had cleaned up the place. The staff from the agency was due for the maintenance visit in the weekend, which gave him just two days.

Angela…he missed her so much.

The investigation had begun, now that they had found Jake’s body; the attention had swung back to him. The detective, blast his name, had already called him twice as had the reporters. It had taken all his strength to answer the questions with composure, regret and anger in the right places.

He changed into fresh clothes while calling Malcolm, his friend from medical school. Malcolm had seen his share of emergencies, being a visiting surgeon at St.Vincent’s with a thriving practice of his own a few blocks away.

Luck on his side, Malcolm had already been contacted by the hospital staff. He was aware of the strain Stewart was under and promised to watch his back.

Next was Brendan, his loyal assistant whom he acknowledged with a “You will be joining Dr.Malcolm and Dr.Bakshi. I will be there as soon as I can.”

A nervous, agitated voice responded, “It seems like a routine accident case, drunken driving…but…”

The hesitancy prompted Stewart to ask “Did you ID the patient?”

“Nothing on him, detectives are swarming the floor and a couple of government officials have turned up.”

‘Must be a local politician or high ranking official, a potential cause of embarrassment’ mused Stewart as Brendan’s voice came back on line.

“I only got a look at him; they are keeping things pretty hush hush…” “Doc, Gotta go…”

He hurriedly parked his car and took the basement elevator to the second floor. The scene that greeted him was one straight from the movies…what caught his eye however, were the two officials standing apart from the others. There was something familiar about the muscular men.

  Nurse Lee, ever competently helped him sterilise, as he tried to keep him mind alert and focused. As he pushed his body through the side door, his colleagues greeted him with somber looks. As they updated him, it was obvious that with a head injury and a puncture to his left lung, the patient’s chances of survival were rather slim. They worked in silence, in perfect tandem for the next three hours till they were relieved by a newer set of surgeons brought in.

One of the muscular men stopped them outside the sterilising room with a curt “We need him alive.”

“Who is he?” queried Malcolm.

“What we say stays here, is that understand?”

The three nodded…“He is ex CIA agent, Alex Sonneberg.”

Stewart collapsed on the floor…

mine was the 15th episode of a 22 episode story on a website

My hidden view

The rod barely missed my shoulder. We stood still like the dead rocks scattered on the grounds below. I sense much hatred and anger, through the constricting alcove, suffocating me. I long for the fresh, pure air of our homeland.

‘Fiaz’, wonder what they have in store for him?

 ‘A true warrior never denies his adversaries a chance at peace,’ he often said. Despite the respect and admiration we bestow, I don’t quite agree with him.

Some are not meant to be forgiven, those that have betrayed him to this dungeon. Our minds may be powerful, but our bodies no match for these vampire guards.

Eliza tugs at my arms, signaling our need to leave. My leaden feet refuse to cross the distance that takes us away from my brother and friends held hostage in the stinking chamber. The spiked chair to the right makes the devious intentions obvious. ‘Stand together but live to fight another day.’ If only, he hadn’t made us swear the blood oath before the journey commenced, I would be sharing the iron chains that bound them or dead by his feet.

The screams were unnerving, voices from the inner cell assaulting us. Inhuman moans, the incessant muttering of the slowly drained. One look at her and I knew, we would have to sneak out soon. For a novice mage, she was holding up well, but it wouldn’t be long before she lost control. The spell weakens, even as I touch her shoulder, careful not to betray my fears as our eyes meet.

The Ghals’s magic is simpler and limited. They can’t sense the invisibility shield. It protects and keeps our presence secret as we seek the point of entry. We had hardly walked a few paces when an agonised scream pierced through our tense thoughts.

My blood runs cold, her eyes water. Now, it’s me who pulls her along. We need reinforcements, and fast, lest our men end up as the next meal.

Wc 328