A Swift Start

I am stuck and regularly snug in as the interstitial piece in the high school chemistry lattice.
No respect, no concern, and all that I get are copper flats for my flatbreads. That goddamn
Elliot took away my shares and my money. With nothing in this sucking hole, I am with no
event horizon in sight.

“Bang, bang!”

A howl and a growl, and some more shots fired. A startled Walt, oh, for you, Walter ‘Walt’
White! In the melancholic state of his with the lung cancer bellowing within, the fire at the
corner doesn’t strike a bullet, and he continues to move on.


“Why are you requesting me to make your meth?”

“I work for Heisenberg.”

“And who the hell is he?”

The conversation ends abruptly. The questioner disappears into the hollow he came from, and
Walt is left all alone again.

None is so entitled that they meet The Heisenberg. Docked in the palls of methamphetamine
and pot, he decides to meet, not you. He wanted you to work and so shall you. No questions,
neither asked nor answered.


I know it is too abrupt that I started to walk from the hospital from the doctor who dares to
pronounce my death sentence to the drug suburb ‘territory’, and now out of the scene to a
civilised neighbourhood. A job offer, money in future, tensed cardio and all balance the other
in symphony. In this resonating self, I approach my gloomy household where the same chores
repeat like ablutions.

“Happy Birthday!”

As the room was filled with people and pizza, the realization dawned upon White that it was
his start of the countdown of death and the coinciding birth date. With a heavy heart and a
broader smile, he joins the merry-men, all but one.

“What were you doing in the suburbs?”

“Hank, I was roaming around, and happened to take a wrong turn and landed in the hollow. I
was not at all conscious and something else was on my mind.”

“Do you even understand the dangers?”

Shit! This man is to describe the dangers to a man to be dead in a few days. This shallow man
who is a bloody DEA agent with a remaining D in the hands of the cartel. This man who has
achieved nothing but petty fame and fallacy.


“So, you are ready to start?”


Pinkman, a flunking drop-out who learnt not a straw was the meth-head meth-cook. Guiding
the new cook into the lab, he shows the ‘elegance’ of his preparation – chilli meth. The lab in
a wonderful state with shelves set and state of the art gear sadly fails to influence the novice.

“You cook here?”


“And people buy your meth?”

“Hell, yeah!”

“I am out.”

“Why the fucking you come into my lab and come into my territory if you were never
working in this manner?” expressed an agitated Pinkman.

“If I am to cook, we are to do it my way, the scientific way.”


“And, this is Methamphetamine, or as you shitty people call, Meth.”

A roused up Pinkman takes the crystal into his hand and sniffs in a jiffy.

“This is legend-level, Heisenberg needs to see this.”

“Can I meet him?”

A pause, and a gunshot.

“The shank shit!”

A disturbed Walt is held by the sight of the shot eavesdropper. Shocked and perturbed,
Walt watches the blood flowing down his sneakers. The crimson colours his leather in the
deepest hue, and brings up the gory of death in him. With fear in eyes, he speaks –

“Can I meet him?”

The Hour

by someshm1 0 Comments

“The World ends in an hour!”

As this line marqueed over the television screen, all were up the spout. Nitin was calling his
girlfriend. Pooja, her kitty friends. Mom, her husband. Grandma, her God-friend. In this erratic
situation, I was busy calling everyone and every other one seemed lesser to take care of me.

Mom rushes into her bedroom, and tucks her best jewellery, clothes in the suit-case, while
munching on a sandwich. She was too inconsiderate, and hardly cared about me or anybody
else. I remembered her manicured hand’s soft touch, her way of caressing me when I was
young, and her way of feeding me, but they were gone. All gone ! How one simple line on the
television screen could alter a human’s attitude towards others startled me.

Rushing with tears rushing, I went into Nitin’s room. He was busy collecting the souvenirs of
the ‘good’ times spent with his unfaithfully faithful girlfriend. As I tried to talk to him, he
shouted and I had to do nothing but return. I was again lost in the lane of memories
recollecting times of having a sumptuous lunch with Nitin, a play of ball and much more.
Alas, they were the talk of past, and the present was full of sorrow!

Pooja was perhaps the most dramatic of all these. With Skype on her laptop, and friends
polishing their nails on either side of screen, they were statistically forecasting and analysing
the future of their daily soaps. Perhaps that was more important than life, or so they thought.
And, again my presence went into oblivion with not more than one corner glimpse of Pooja. I
was again rejected.

Dejected, I tread the path less tread, and moved towards Granny’s room. There she sat on
her mat, lost in the rosaries, impervious to the news. Hearing me coming in, she opened up
her eyes gracefully, and greeted me with a smile. Putting her hand around me, she started
talking of the greatness of Krishna, how he managed to be detachedly attached to the
humanity, and dwell in the same time in the vastness of the cosmos. Though, I hardly
understood a word of her, I was happy with the attention I received.

Outside the window, I could see people going haywire, and many yelling, others sobbing,
some sledging, and much more. Sitting in the coolness, and learning of the virtuous
omnipresence, I went into a state of trance. But it was again short-lived, and people started
banging and barging again.

There were a few more minutes, and as I sat there, I contemplated on the events. How
egocentric were people? How they went into their own selfish spheres ignoring all that
happens? How hypocritical had they been, when they said they loved me, and now they
ignored me?

But, then crept in a strange smile over my face, and my tail wagged again, as I cerebrated –

“ It was better that I had been a dog, and not a human. ”

Cherished Secrets

by someshm1 0 Comments

Dates rolled by yet thoughts fixed upon one, they speak yet they don’t, they talk to none but the
craving me. Memories of the forgotten and the past come into life in my wee little world. Sensations
unparalleled, joys unraveled, and the beautiful yet disdainful one left me swiveling in nowhere.

While I was shuffling through my playlist for some good chords, the coolness of the room and
the bewildering crisscross of the lights pouring in from places unknown accompanied by the mellifluous
music had me translocated back into times when I was a fighter, known to the lost eyes of a different
world of mine, busy with the lost pieces to be normal again. Those sweet memories made me realize
that, once I too was a part of the mad youth, filled with all sorts of damn emotions and infatuations.
Times have changed a bit now and from the one who craved for the unnamed and unknown one in the
dimly lit midsummer nights, I have been transformed into a more stable and person of sound judgment.
Such nice infatuations and ‘confidential’ love stories woven in a dreamland tickle my funny bones today
and smile at a lonely me.

Songs of my taste – slow and of the romantic types, an awesome combination, akin to the
melancholic state of mine took me down the memory lane from the career-conscious youth of today.
Shockingly someone left and forgotten beneath the awful pressures of today silently woke up from the
slumber and asked : Are you the same mad fellow of the days gone by or the composed one of today.
Yet the madness still prevails and I look up for the heights to be tamed. In reality, the period is such that
you have an inclination towards someone, for her beauty, her likeness, her curves, her style, her long
shining tresses, her gait and a few days or months after being in the trance, you realize her nothingness.
Taunted then, you get up into her eyes and fight for the meaningless thing called a damn infatuation. It’s
all a beautiful part of being betrayed in the thorny path of life that makes a man fall and get up. Then
does he realize and cherish the beautiful dream he had and the awful consequences that followed.

What was difficult to be forgotten and brought hot and blinding tears to the eyes of the
armored ‘lover’ then, brings a shameful but lovely curve on the face with its myriad colors and beautiful
blossoms, for that’s the true meaning of the infatuation. Eyes brighten up and you realize the past
blunders and the innocent mistakes committed in the bravado of relentless purity of inclined ideals for
someone to show off. There is indeed an attraction beyond your control for someone or many that
fastens up your beats and takes you up to a level to enjoy the adrenal flow and cherish the cinematic
lines in which you comment to yourself sooner or later the fallacy of youthful love. And, finally it makes
you realize the value of such actions in life.

Beautiful moments and times were they, yet only a mere part of this eventful life. A few nimble
thoughts of the past reflect a mere stature of the mind. Failing in this rat-race is more beautiful than
being a part of it or emerging victorious. This is the battle yearned to be lost. But, being a participant of
the rat-race of careers and money in this 21st century, one must move on. Leaving the byzantine
amalgamation of the quintessence of all emotions, one must trail the trodden lines. To remain shoulder
to shoulder and maintain an honorable position, it’s much required. Work, work to be a part of this
system, else sooner or later, you shall be kicked out of it.