Saturday, June 25, 2016

Marine Drive Blues


I dont know why blue is related to gloomy. I feel blue when I am happy. I feel blue today. Why? The first reason would be that it's a working day and I didn't go to office. The second is because I am in marine drive. Not the real one, the fake one in Cochin. The real marine drive has hosted many good memories for me, it's a place where you can get lost into the crowd just walking around or just sit and stare at the constant gushing waves smashing against funny shaped concrete blocks or just do anything you want, no one will give a tiny rat's ass, you can be whatever you want. The fake marine drive although lacking such qualities and also the scenic beauty is a good enough substitute if you haven't been to the real one for a year. Scenic beauty has never stirred my senses anyways. The marine drive in Cochin is a bit odd, as in it is not continuous, you have to enter through a shopping complex and exit after about 500 meters through a shopping complex again and enter through a labyrinth of tea-snacks shops for the remaining part of it. I had a lot of time to kill so I just walked through the entire length twice. I didn't have anyone to strike a conversation with, so I started observing. Observing the people all around, trying to note the similarities and the differences. Based on this elaborate and time consuming endeavor, I could divide the people into six basic types:


The first type, who were trying to hide the most, but were still the most conspicuous, were the young couples. The couples themselves can be further subdivided into three types. The primary and the most prevalent identities in such locations. These are very shy looking, holding hands, even if they are not facing each other. Even when they do face each other, they whisper so that anyone nearby can not eavesdrop. These are young couples, mostly teenagers, but they all look beautiful, because people in love look beautiful or beautiful people fall in love, either one of them has to be true. 


Then there are the couples with a child. They look similar too. They typically include either the male or female looking after their child and the other one busy on his or her cellphone. There is nothing much to decipher about them, they are just going through this phase of life.
Now you may wonder, as I did, where do the children come from? Holding hands surely doesn't do the trick. The answer probably is that they come from the smart couples. Smart enough to know that love is more than just holding hands. But not smart enough to realise what their actions could lead to!


The third type are the old couples, who have had enough time to realise that all these phases are pointless and are just happy that they are still healthy enough to stroll around or sit without any support.


I also encountered numerous gangs of pretty loud teenagers. It may sound like I am exaggerating, but 
I really saw at least four similar groups. These groups had five dudes, all with the same hairstyle and skinny jeans, and two girls. One of the girls was only interested in one guy and the other one just went blabbering about. Of course there is one cool guy who doesn't give a fuck and is looking in a direction no one else knew existed. The hairstyle part seriously bothers me, although I am not old enough, but I think the generation gap has become apparent  already. They all have the same freaking hairstyle, the hyperbolated virat kohli look.


Next is the group of girls. Now by group I imply two. It is very difficult to find a group of girls with more than two girls in it. Again something I can't comprehend. These girls, although I am not objectifying, has one pretty girl and the other one not so pretty and they are always showing something to each other on their cellphones or taking selfies with a pout.


The last type are the group single guys, mostly five to six in quantity. They too have the virat kohli look and the skinny jeans that look so uncomfortable you wonder how they manage to sit without squishing things. They just stare at the group of girls and the girls in other groups.


The list is not exhaustive, you will also encounter group of adult men in lungis judging everyone else and the occasional husbands who according to their wife are at work but sit looking at the waters instead.


Who am I? I probably belong to the group of those single guys, but since I am alone, I stand free and I judge the others. I don't share their hairstyle though.


Ciao (the last time I spelled it wrong).

Friday, April 29, 2016

Sir Picksalot

Chapter 1



Scene 1


Not so far away in a place called nowhere. Sir Picksalot owned a very peculiar bar.

              Sir Picksalot as his name would suggest had a very odd habit of picking his nose, even though such picking due its frequency did not always yield promising results, there was no other place where Sir would rather enjoy his finger. Although you might assume so, but the knighthood wasn't granted to him due to his excellence in the above mentioned field it was just something his family named him, you see his grandfather was accorded with the knighthood for his extraordinary contributions to the war, his parents just passed it onto him to continue his grandfather's legacy. 'Middle' (hereafter referred to as The bar) was placed right at the center of a very busy city. But due to the Mayor’s successful sobriety propaganda  and the failing economy the bar had only four customers. Four regular customers and not another living soul except them ever entered the premises.

Strange as it may sound to a regular bar monger, the place only opened from 8 pm to 11 pm. Which implies no happy hours. Before you stop breathing and loose all your faith in society, we shall continue with the story part of this exorbitantly explained scenario. The new word being a an antithesis/euphemism of course to the writer's inability to create or even imagine a grander or reasonable setting for the story to unfold. Without further ado let's move on to the four regular customers, of which one shall die (no this is not the suspense).
The names, for the sheer lack of imagination or effort and also to avoid the stereotypes that we form in our head relating to names from the people we meet, were Rat, Pat, Mat and Chester Yes you guessed it right, Chester dies.
Just when Picksalot, dribbling through the bushy field of his nose, had located something worthy enough to stick in his nails and expose to the outside world. He heard a gentle thud on the bar door. This was odd as none of his four customers had ever knocked and Chester, who was the only person missing from that bar that night, would be the last person to do so. Picksalot irritably leaving the dried mucus, which had been located after an hour of dedicated searching, carefully in the same place where it was found got up from his seat and limped up to the door. Outside waiting restlessly was a tall figure strongly built with a jawline that would make George Clooney look like a kid. The physical persona was not reflected in his flail bodily movements. It was the renowned  local police officer  detective Chad. As soon as he saw Picksalot his shoulders drooped further and he started scratching his head in order to come up with an opening line. Finally after 10 long seconds of silence he spoke, " We found Chester's body in front of your bar's back door”. Picksalot, seldom a guy with expressions worth noticing, shrieked utilising all the air his lungs could manage. The surprising nature of the news being the major cause behind the wailing. He turned towards the other three inmates of the bar, who had already eavesdropped on the news and were too in a state of shock.


To be contd..